Chapter 2 - The House on the Hill
The Blackwood estate in Westchester did not look like a house. It looked like a castle made of dark gray stone and glass, rising from the mist of the Hudson River like a sleeping giant.
We had driven for forty-five minutes in a silence so thick it felt like water. Maxwell sat in the front passenger seat, his head leaning against his hand, his eyes fixed on the dark road ahead. In the back, Ethan had not let go of my hand. He had fallen into a light, exhausted sleep, his head resting against my shoulder, his small body occasionally jerking as if he were still falling toward the frozen ground of the park.
When the car finally stopped under a massive stone portico, the doors were opened by men in quiet, dark suits who did not look at my dirty shoes or my tangled hair.
"Welcome home, sir," an older man with gray hair and a kind face said, bowing slightly. "The doctor is already upstairs in Master Ethan’s room."
"Thank you, Arthur," Maxwell said, stepping out of the car. He turned to me, his eyes searching my face in the soft yellow light of the carriage lamps. "Lily, can you carry him? Or should I?"
"I've got him," I said, my voice barely a whisper.
I was small for my age, but three weeks of lifting heavy wooden crates to find dry sleeping spots and carrying bags of aluminum cans had made my arms strong. I slid my arms under Ethan, lifting him gently. He was surprisingly light, his head rolling into the hollow of my neck with a soft, trusting sigh.
We walked through a grand entrance hall with floors of polished white marble that reflected the light of a massive crystal chandelier. On the walls hung large, dark paintings of old ships and stormy seas, but there were no photos of family, no toys on the floor, no sign that a child actually lived here. It felt like a museum that had been closed for the season.
Maxwell led the way up a wide, winding staircase with a black wrought-iron railing.
"We'll go straight to Ethan’s room," he said. "Dr. Vance is a family friend. He won't ask questions that aren't necessary."
Ethan’s room was vast, but it felt cold. The walls were a pale, sterile blue, and the furniture was modern and sharp-edged. A large bed with white sheets sat in the center of the room, looking more like a hospital bed than a child's place of rest.
An elderly man in a gray suit stood by the window, a leather medical bag resting on a table beside him.
"Maxwell," the doctor said, his voice hushed. "How is he?"
"Cold," Maxwell said, his voice tight. "He was out there for nearly ten hours, Gregory."
The doctor’s eyes flicked to me, then to the boy in my arms. He did not say anything about my dirty clothes or the smell of damp earth that clung to my hair. He simply stepped forward, his hands warm and gentle as he took Ethan from my arms and laid him on the bed.
"Let’s get these wet clothes off him," Dr. Vance said, pulling back the comforter. "Lily, is it? Can you find the bathroom down the hall? There is a warm bath waiting for you. Arthur has left some clean clothes."
I looked at Maxwell, my feet glued to the thick, plush rug.
"Go, Lily," Maxwell said, his voice remarkably soft. He reached out and touched my shoulder, his large hand steady and warm. "You've done enough survival for one night. Let us take care of you now."
I turned and walked out of the room, my heart hammering against my ribs.
The bathroom down the hall was larger than the entire basement alcove I had been sharing with three other runaway kids in Brooklyn. The walls were clad in slabs of green marble, and a massive porcelain tub was already filled with steaming, lavender-scented water.
Beside the tub lay a pile of soft, thick towels and a pair of gray flannel pajamas that looked brand new.
I stripped off my dirty clothes, throwing them into a corner as if they were a skin I was desperate to shed. When I stepped into the hot water, the pain of the heat returning to my frozen toes and fingers made me gasp, but as I sank beneath the bubbles, the warmth began to melt away the deep, heavy chill that had lived in my bones since the day my mother had gone into the hospital and never come out.
I washed my hair with soap that smelled of rosemary and honey. I scrubbed my skin until it was red, washing away the dirt of the subway grates, the grease of the diner kitchens, and the lingering, metallic scent of fear.
When I stepped out, I put on the gray pajamas. The sleeves were too long, but the flannel was so soft it felt like a hug.
I walked back to Ethan’s room, my bare feet sinking into the carpet.
The doctor had finished his examination. Ethan was sitting up in bed, drinking a cup of warm broth, his cheeks finally showing a faint, healthy pink. Maxwell sat on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his hand clasped tightly in his son’s.
"His vitals are stable, Maxwell," Dr. Vance was saying. "No signs of frostbite, thank God. But he needs rest. And he needs to feel safe."
"He will be safe," Maxwell said, his voice dropping to a level of dark gravity that made the room feel very small. "I will hire a private security detail for his wing. No one enters this house without my personal clearance."
He looked up as I entered.
"Lily," Ethan called out, his voice stronger now. He pointed to the empty side of the bed. "Come sit here."
I walked over and sat on the edge of the mattress, my legs curled under me.
"The doctor says my legs are just tired," Ethan whispered to me, his dark eyes wide. "He says I don't have to go to the hospital."
"That's good, Ethan," I said.
Maxwell stood up, looking down at the two of us. The lines of exhaustion around his eyes were deep, but there was a strange, new light in them—a light of determination.
"Arthur has prepared the guest suite next to Ethan’s room for you, Lily," Maxwell said. "For tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we will talk about your family."
"I don't have a family," I said, my voice flat. "My mom died in the hospital three weeks ago. The landlord took the apartment. I didn't want to go to the social workers, so I left."
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Maxwell stared at me, his chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy breath. He did not offer pity, which I would have hated. He simply nodded.
"Then you have a family now," he said.
