Free Solsbury Hill A Novel by Susan M. Wyler Page A

there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “Gwen says it’s nonsense, but I know it’s not. Nothing I care to make a fuss about anymore, but you, dear . . .” She suddenly faded. “Dear Eleanor, I’m afraid I need to sleep again.” Her eyes were already closed and her tongue was fairly thick in her mouth when she spoke. “Forjust a while. Would you mind if I drifted off for a bit and we’ll talk in the morning?”
    Eleanor traced along the branch that ran from her mother to her grandparents and then to their parents, then set the family tree aside and watched Alice sleep. In the quiet she heard the whinny of horses and went to the bay window. On a hill in the distance she saw Mead on a chestnut horse with a white colt on a lead. The white colt was shaking his head and pulling against Mead, who sat tall in the saddle, yanked the rope sharply downward, and seemed to encourage the colt to cooperate, because soon the two horses and rider were cantering down the side of the hill.
    Gwen had come in quietly. “Oh, my, she’s been telling you stories,” she said. She’d brought a simple ham sandwich and some lemonade for Eleanor. As she laid them on the table, she noticed the drawing on one side of the bed. “Did she say much about it?” Gwen lifted the edge and gazed at the delicate drawing.
    “She said you had your own ideas.”
    Gwen dismissed this with a shake of her head. “Well, we were young when we found it. Alice was studying English literature at Cambridge, teaching a bit already, working on her doctorate and very curious about history, so when we chanced upon this odd document, well, you can imagine how excited she would have been.”
    “She’s a little excited about it still,” Eleanor said. She thanked Gwen, and took a big bite of the sandwich.
    “I haven’t seen it in decades.” Gwen looked at Alice’s face, the face of her one great love. “I haven’t seen it since then.” She shrugged. “Anyone could draw a family history saying anything, I suppose.” Gwen pulled the covers up on Alice’s chest. “It might be a story worth considering, but there are some things people just don’t want to know.”
    “Alice wanted me to know.”
    “Apparently so.” Gwen smiled warmly, looking at the drawing. “Certainly a good deal of it’s accurate. It is your family tree.”
    She folded it and slid it back into its tight place in the drawer. Alice stirred.
    Eleanor sensed the sadness in Gwen. The lemonade was fresh and sweet and delicious. She finished her sandwich as Gwen carried the jewelry box back into the closet and Eleanor called to her, “I’m going to go for another walk, if that’s okay.”
    “More than okay.” Gwen came back in the room. “It’s healthy.”
    Eleanor kissed Gwen’s cheek and then her aunt Alice’s thin hand before leaving the room. Downstairs, she borrowed some Wellington boots from the mudroom and headed straight for the hill with the orange-barked leaning lady.

    The swing felt solid and the seat was warm. It hung from heavy twined ropes wrapped in velvet that hadonce been some color that had faded to brown. Eleanor had only been on swings at the city parks, swings that were lined up three or four seats side by side and suspended by short chains with a meager motion compared to this one. These ropes were long and the arc was wild. It made her queasy to swing so high.
    For a moment Eleanor thought she saw the same children, but they disappeared in a dell, and when she saw them again they both had their heads down and were climbing a faraway hill.
    She bent her legs tight beneath her to miss hitting the ground when she swung back across it. What an odd world, she thought to herself as she swung. A family tree that reached back for what looked like seven or eight generations. She hadn’t been on a swing since she was small. She remembered her mother telling her to reach her toes for the sky. Her mother would have told her to reach for the leaves on the top