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Back Nightingale House
Chapters (44)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Also by Steve Frech
  4. Praise for Steve Frech
  5. Nightingale House
  6. Dedication
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 1
  40. 2
  41. Acknowledgments
  42. Dear Reader …
  43. Keep Reading …
  44. About the Publisher

I’m going to tell Father everything once we leave Kingsbrook. I don’t know what I’m going to do. Maybe I’ll be able to find a loving family to adopt the child. Maybe I’ll try to raise it on my own to make sure it doesn’t grow up to be like its father.

I don’t know.

For now, I must decide how much of my life I want to take with me on Father’s next ‘adventure’.

October 6th, 1900

I’m sitting at Mr. Carrington’s desk in the Nightingale House. I must be quick. Father is waiting outside. These are the last words I will ever write in this journal and I hope no one reads them, but I can’t bring myself to destroy it. Destroying it won’t erase the past.

Last night, while trying to decide what to take into our new lives, I decided that I did not want to take these memories. I want to leave them here, in Kingsbrook, in the Nightingale House, where so many of them were born.

I convinced Father to take us by the house as we left Kingsbrook. He was understandably confused but agreed to do it. We drove out through the bitter morning cold to Willow Lake. I knew no one would be here. Mrs. Carrington and Mr. Whitlock are still in Boston. I went to the porch and found the key under the pot on the table. I had to reassure Father to wait for a few minutes as I unlocked the door and went inside.

I walked around the house one last time, stopping in the master bedroom, and came down here, to his little sanctuary. I’m going to leave the journal in the secret compartment in the bookcase. I’m returning his gift. Then, I’m going out back and throwing the key into the lake.

I don’t know what the future holds, but I know I want to let go of this past and bury it here in the Nightingale House, this house that holds nothing but sadness.

Farewell.

27

I close the journal.

I’ve been reading for hours and it’s pitch black outside.

It happened here. It happened here in this house. Questions are tumbling in my head. What happened that night at the train station? Mr. Whitlock said Katherine was with them. I have to try the number for the Whitlocks again.

I take out my phone and stand up. It’s stifling in here and I need air. I go to the window and am about to push it open but stop when I look down below.

Nicole is standing there on the lawn. She’s looking up at me with a terrified expression.

“It’s your fault …”

The whisper to my left is coarse, like wet sandpaper.