Page 20 of The Witch

“Yes, I realize that.” He hesitates. “I’d like to go inside to talk, if you’re okay with that, Miss Barlow?”

“It’s Julia. And yes, that would be fine.”

He leads the way into the heart of the museum, leaping ahead to open the inner door for me. His manners, apparently, are just as old-fashioned as his clothing. I can almost imagine Henry Ziegler posing in a black-and-white photograph. Yet, there’s something strangely charming about him.

Henry leads me through a couple of rooms with various artifacts from time periods long ago. I love museums, and under any other circumstances, I’d be taking the time to browse through the exhibits, but Henry doesn’t seem interested in giving me the grand tour. He has a very clear idea of where we’re going.

“What does a museum curator do, anyway?” I ask him.

“I’m in charge of acquiring pieces for the museum and verifying their authenticity,” he says. “I’ve had my eye on Pemberton for…well, for years.”

We finally come to a stop in a room filled with items that would be useful if I went back in a time machine to colonial America. My gaze falls on what looks like the spinning wheel that sent Sleeping Beauty into a coma. Next to it is a heavy wooden chest that looks centuries old.

“This entire room is filled with items I acquired from seventeenth-century New England.” Henry waves his arms at the antiques filling the room. “If we were to purchase your grandmother’s house, we would move them there to create a truly authentic experience. Walking into Pemberton would be like entering a portal into colonial times. Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

His excitement is so genuine, it almost gets me excited too. I can absolutely imagine everything in this room being transported into Pemberton—it really would be like going through a time machine. Part of me loves the idea of bringing Pemberton back to its former days of glory, rather than letting it sit dusty and neglected.

“Not only that,” he continues, “but we’d like to acquire several pieces that are currently in the house. There’s a grandfather clock that I’m fairly sure is just as old as the house itself.”

“The clock is a bit…” I hesitate. “It might not be in perfect working order.”

“It was working fine when I visited,” he says. “I heard it ticking. Those grandfather clocks have incredible craftsmanship. That clock will be around long after you and I are both in the ground.”

I consider telling him about the way the clock stops every night, but he’s so excited over it, I can’t bear to break it to him.

“Also,” Henry adds, “there’s an oil painting in the parlor that we would love to keep in the house. Our benefactors are willing to be very generous if your grandmother will part with it. As I’m sure you know, Archibald Eldridge helped turn Woodhaven from a tiny settlement into a real town, and the Eldridge family has been one of the most respected families in the history of Woodhaven. We would like to honor Archibald and Molly by having their likeness in the exhibit.”

So Henry saw the painting and is clearly not disturbed by it the way I am. I wonder if he knows my family’s complicated history and that Archibald’s second wife was burned at the stake for witchcraft. If he did, he might not be quite so enthusiastic about the painting.

“You need to know, Miss Barlow—Julia,” he says, “that we intend to treat Pemberton with the utmost respect. It’s not like we’re flattening it to build a shopping mall. Our goal is to preserve your family’s history for all the world to see.”

“Uh-huh…”

Henry adjusts his glasses on his nose as he cocks his head to the side. “You’re not convinced.”

“It’s not that I’m not convinced,” I say. “It’s just that it’s not my decision. Pemberton belongs to my grandmother. If she doesn’t want to sell it…”

“I recognize it’s not your decision,” he acknowledges. “But when I talked to your grandmother on the phone, she spoke so highly of you. If anyone could convince her, it’s you. Besides, I got the distinct impression that it was growing much harder for her to manage such a large estate—we’d be doing her a favor by taking it off her hands.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” I finally say. “I’ll think about it and discuss it with my grandmother.”

Henry glances down at the heavy silver watch on his wrist, which looks similar to the one Mick wears. “You’ll have to excuse me—I have an appointment in about fifteen minutes I couldn’t manage to get out of. I’d like to discuss this in more detail though. Would you have time for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Dinner?”

“I’d like to give you my pitch.” Behind his glasses, his eyes twinkle, and I can’t help but smile. “I convinced our benefactors to donate millions of dollars, so I’m getting pretty good at this.”

I laugh. “Do you have a prepared PowerPoint presentation?”

“PowerPoint presentation?” The words sound foreign on his lips, like he’s contemplating some futuristic technology like hoverboards. “No, I don’t need a PowerPoint presentation. We’re going to talk this out like two reasonable people. Your aunt didn’t want to talk to me, but I’m hoping you feel differently.”

I’m certainly more reasonable than Ethel, but it so happens she’s holding all the cards. “I’m not sure it’s the best use of your time.”

“I one hundred percent disagree,” he counters. “I’ve got a lot to say that I think will convince you that this is the best thing for your entire family.”

I open my mouth to insist there’s no point, but then I hesitate. It would be nice to get out of the house for an evening on the museum’s dime, and Henry is awfully easy on the eyes. Even more importantly, it’s clear that this man is a wealth of information about Pemberton. So much history has been lost since Gram’s memory went, and it would be helpful to have a person whose brain I can pick for information about my birthright.

“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go.”