“I’m on it. What’ll it be?” Ryan asked, heading to the big espresso machine on the counter.

“I’ll take a cappuccino,” my father said.

“Make that two,” I said. I set the album down on the table. “Ryan, what do you know about the old hotel that used to be here?”

“Not much,” he said, dumping beans into the grinder. “It burned to the ground. The owner was ruined. He took what your great-grandfather offered for the land and ashes and got the hell out. Went back to New York, I think. Or wherever he was from.”

“How is it that I never heard this story?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Lexie knew about it. She was really interested in the hotel and what happened to it. She was asking my grandma about it not long ago, actually. My grandmother had a bunch of old photos, and Lexie was so excited to see them.”

“Do you think she’d mind showing me?”

He smiled. “Are you kidding? She’d be thrilled! She loves talking about all that old stuff. We can swing by today, if you’d like. She’s always up for a visit. Today’s Wednesday—no bingo or music, so we won’t be interrupting anything.”

I remembered my brief conversation with Shirley after Lexie’s service—the clear signs of dementia—and doubted she’d be a reliable source of information, but it couldn’t hurt to hear what she had to say.

“Sure,” I said, checking my watch. It was nearly one. “Let’s finish our coffee. Then I have to make a couple of calls.”

We drank coffee, stuffed ourselves on muffins, listened to my father tells stories about surviving Hurricane Irma in a high school gymnasium with his girlfriend and cat. He and Ryan got into a discussion about how global warming was affecting weather patterns, and the ramifications of living on a changing coastline. I excused myself to make my calls.

Once upstairs, I checked my phone—no new messages. I called Declan’s mom, again leaving both my cell number and the landline at Sparrow Crest. “Please call me back,” I said. “It’s important that we talk.” Then I called Barbara and filled her in.

“So you’re going through your sister’s papers, hoping they’ll help you make sense of what’s happened? You know what I’m going to say about that, right, Jackie?”

I blew out a breath. “I know. My sister was sick. Nothing’s really going to help me make sense of what’s happened. I know all that. I just want…” What? What did I want? “Looking through the papers, organizing them, trying to get a sense of what her life was like these last weeks and months, it’s like… like I can hear her voice. Like she’s with me again. It’s a way to feel close to her. It’s what I need to do right now. And it gives me something to do. Something to focus on.”

“I understand. Just try to watch your expectations. Don’t think you’re going to find answers.”

“I know,” I said. “Only a lot more questions. But right now, that’s enough.”

I didn’t tell her about what had happened last night at the pool.

chapter twenty-two

March 3, 1930

Lanesborough, New Hampshire

Something is wrong with the baby. We noticed it right away. Margaret spent more time sleeping than she should. And she was not nursing with much enthusiasm. I would put her to my breast and coax her, but she would close her eyes and fall asleep, as if just the act of being awake was too much for her. She seemed to grow smaller and paler. I could see the blue veins through her white skin, watch them pulse.

“Something’s wrong,” I said, stroking the cool cheeks of my beautiful baby girl. She opened her eyes and looked up at me with that serious expression, my little sparrow. I so wished she could tell me what was wrong, what I needed to do to help her. I’ve never felt so helpless and inadequate; so thoroughly unprepared.

“She’ll come around,” Will promised at first. “Keep trying to feed her. It’s common for babies to lose weight in the first few days.” But I knew this was different.

Even her crying seemed weaker and quieter than it should.

At times, her chest made a funny wheezing sound. I called Will in to listen.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked.

Will did not answer. He examined her, his face tightening with worry, his brow wrinkling.

Will brought us to the Valley hospital. We carried Maggie down the waxed floors and up the elevators to the pediatrics area. The hospital smelled of antiseptic and sickness. I could hear a child crying far off, saying, “Mama, Mama, Mama,” over and over.

One of Will’s older colleagues, Dr. Hansen, greeted us and brought us back into an examination room. Dr. Hansen spent a good deal of time listening to Margaret’s chest with his stethoscope. He tried to give me a reassuring smile, but I could tell something was wrong.

I could hear Dr. Hansen and Will out in the hall, speaking in hushed tones, but could not make out what they were saying. I held Maggie close to my chest, stroking her hair, cooing to her. She looked up at me with her mermaid eyes, gray and stormy. Flecks of black in them caught the light and reminded me of the springs—of their vast depth, the possibility the water held.

“You are my wish come true,” I told her. She blinked and sighed.

When Will came into the room as last, his face was cloudy with worry. “It’s her heart,” he said. “We’ve got to take her to Boston right away. Dr. Hansen is making calls to specialists there. They’ll be expecting us.”

He tried to take Maggie from me, but I held tight to her. I put my own ear against her chest, listened to her heart beating, small and far away.

I made myself ask the question: “Will she live?”

“She’s a fighter. And she’s got the best mother in the world.” He gave a weak smile, but his eyes told me the truth. It was as though he’d reached into my chest and squeezed my own heart until it nearly stopped.

I felt as if water had rushed in, surrounding us, filling my mouth and lungs. I could not move or speak. Will helped me up from the chair. Again, he tried to take Maggie, but I would not let go. We hurried home and packed a suitcase for an overnight trip—an extra suit and pajamas for Will, my black wool dress, stockings, and a nightgown. And plenty of diapers and changes of clothes for little Margaret. I layered her up in her warmest things for the car ride, then wrapped her in the quilt my sister had made for her.