Hollingwood had been built by Sarah’s grandfather, a governor of Connecticut who had drawn the plans for the house himself, which accounted for why the house wasn’t like any Bridey had seen. It was the biggest house in the town’s historical district, built with stones mined from the local quarries which weren’t around anymore. The house looked to Bridey like a house in a fairytale. It rambled this way and that, with long hallways and bow windows and several porches and sunrooms and a four-story octagonal turret. The windows at the top of the turret were arched and color-stained like church windows and whenever Bridey went up there to sweep up the dead flies, or to dust the old telescope that nobody used, she took a moment to gaze trough the colored panes, taking in the holy beauty of the field and the lake, and the evergreen bordering everything, like a backdrop.
Part of Bridey wished things would go on forever as they were: her baby safe within as she followed rules, never having to decide things for herself. The next decision she made would determine the course of her life-and that of another life, too.
A review copy of this title was provided by Little Brown and Co.