When she did not come, I dumped the extra tea down the drain, went into the bathroom, and poked my arm with a pin six times. She is not here now but she is coming, I told myself as I pressed the needle into my skin.

I am Mrs. Monroe and I am having a houseguest. A good friend. We will share our secrets and laugh over tea. I will make her some of my famous raspberry tarts, and she will never want to leave.

“I’ve invited Eliza Harding to come visit,” I told Will when he came home to find me setting up the guest room with clean bedding. I’d told him nothing about the death of poor little Martha at the hotel or Eliza’s consequent unraveling. He knew we exchanged letters often and told each other about our gardens and sewing projects and favorite recipes. Such simple creatures he must think we are!

Will gave me a strange look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Having a houseguest now? You’re so caught up in the foliage festival. I don’t want you to overtax yourself in your condition.”

“Nonsense,” I replied. “A visit from Eliza is just what I need. And she can help with the festival. She’s ever so organized. Just think of all the work she’s put into that rose garden, everything she does to help keep things at the hotel running smoothly.”

He nodded. “If it will make you happy,” he said.

“Oh, it will,” I said, throwing my arms around him, kissing his neck. “Ever so happy!”

* * *

This afternoon, I finally received a letter from the hotel! But when I looked at the return address, I saw that it was not from Eliza, but from her husband, Mr. Benson Harding.

Dear Mrs. Monroe,

I’m afraid I write with terrible news. I regret to inform you that my wife, Eliza, drowned last week on the grounds of the hotel. As you can imagine, I am at an absolute loss.

I must also confess that she was not of her right mind in the weeks leading up to the accident. Please disregard anything she might have written to you in recent letters.

Sincerely,

Mr. Benson Harding

The Brandenburg Springs Hotel

Will came home and found me, face puffy and tearstained. I’d scorched the squash soup and burned two loaves of bread. The kitchen smelled like singed and ruined things. He asked me what on earth happened. “Is it the baby?”

I started to cry. I opened my mouth to tell him, but I could not. Perhaps saying the words would make them too real? No. I wanted to protect him. I didn’t want him to know such a terrible thing had happened at a place so special to us; the place where our child was brought to life. “The baby’s fine,” I said. “I was just feeling a little sorry for myself for no reason. And dinner turned into a disaster. I’m so sorry, Will.”

He wrapped me up in a tight hug. “You’re overdoing things,” he said. “Working day and night on this festival. And I know you haven’t been sleeping well, you toss and turn. You need rest, Ethel.”

He tucked me into bed, slipping a little white pill under my tongue. “This will help you relax.”

I closed my eyes and dreamed I was back at the springs with my newborn baby. Eliza Harding came up from underwater. But not the Eliza I remembered—she was pale with a green cast to her skin. Her hair was full of weeds, her breath was sharp and metallic. Her lips were blue. And her eyes, they were two dark pools, as black as the water itself.

She reached out from the water, her arms impossibly long, tendril-white fingers that turned to claws, and snatched my little girl. Just before pulling her under, Eliza said to me, “Don’t you understand? She belongs to the springs.”

chapter fifteen

June 18, 2019

Jackie? I’m really concerned,” Karen said. “Declan’s showing some psychotic symptoms. He’s talking nonstop about the fish not being who they said they were. About monsters who sometimes look like fish and sometimes people. His thoughts are all over the place. He made a vague threat toward you.”

“Toward me? What did he say?” I panted out the words as I walked quickly up the hill back toward Sparrow Crest, the package under my left arm, the beer in my left hand and my phone in my right.

“That bad things are going to happen to you.”

I stopped to catch my breath. “That doesn’t sound like Declan at all.”

“He said the fish told him. He heard them speaking. They’re still speaking to him even now that they’re dead.”

“Oh God,” I said. I felt a vise tighten around my head. Poor Declan. He’d been doing so well—one of my success stories. I quickly sifted back through our interactions, sure I hadn’t seen even a glimmer that any of this might have been coming. What symptoms had I missed? “He’s been antisocial and withdrawn in the past, but to my knowledge he’s never experienced any hallucinations. Never had any breaks with reality.”

“He needs to be hospitalized, Jackie. I made some phone calls and sent him over to the Central Valley ER with his mom. But his mom isn’t understanding the seriousness of the situation, resisted bringing him. She said she’s tired of her son being poked and medicated and put under a magnifying glass.”

“But she must see that this is different. He’s showing clear psychotic symptoms: disorganized thinking, delusions, hallucinations.”

“I went over all of that with her, but I’m not sure any of it truly sank in.”

I started walking again. I’d reached the end of the driveway, the big black mailbox with Gram’s last name painted in big white letters: HARKNESS.

“Okay. I’ll call Mrs. Shipee. Just to make sure she’s got him over there and help her see it’s the right move. Can you give me her number?”

I set down the package and beer, fumbled in my purse for a pen, and wrote the phone number on my forearm. Then I thanked Karen, hung up, and called Mrs. Shipee before even getting to the house. It went straight to voice mail.

I left a message and asked her to please call me when she got a chance, explaining that I’d had to come to Vermont for a family emergency, but I was very concerned about Declan. “I’m available anytime,” I told her, and gave her both my cell number and the landline for Sparrow Crest.

Back at the house, I found Diane and my father in the kitchen, and—even though it was well before five—a bottle of rum and cans of Diet Coke out on the table.