The Ruin and Restoration of Harrison Fredrick | ONC 2021 |

Chapter One

The trees and fields of the English countryside were duller than the ones in Tennessee. Everything I'd seen since stepping off the ship looked like it'd been leeched of color and life. The sky kept clear of clouds since I arrived yesterday, but instead of the bright, crystalline blue of the Tennessee Valley, it was almost gray. I kept expecting rain, even just a drizzle, but none ever came.

The carriage rattled over a divot in the road and I braced my arm against the door to keep from falling to the floor. "Sorry," the driver called, in a tone that made me think he wasn't really sorry at all.

"It's all right," I replied. I leaned my head out the open window and caught the heavy scent of honeysuckle and some other foliage I couldn't name. The land was flat and bare except for a scattering of trees and the dirt road winding through the limp grass. An occasional songbird flitted past, dipping and soaring over the carriage. It looked like a dream, one that I would look forward to waking up from. If only I could.

I craned my head to look at the driver. He was a short, pudgy man who'd hardly said a dozen words to me since meeting me at the docks in London. I couldn't tell if it was because he didn't like me or just didn't talk much at all. "How much farther is it?" I asked him.

He tilted his head but didn't look at me. His rumpled tan suit didn't show a speck of dust despite the clouds kicking up behind the horses. Maybe that was the point of it being tan. "'Bout two miles, sir."

Now I heard the disdain in his voice on the word 'sir.' I didn't know what I'd done to earn his disfavor, but I didn't blame him—it was a long way to Allston Manor, according to the helpful crewmate I'd shared a stash of cookies with from the ship, and this kind of weather would have put anyone in a bad mood. I nearly asked him why he pronounced 'sir' like "suh,' but thought better of it. We spoke the same language, and from what I remembered most Americans' ancestors were British anyway, so why did English sound so strange here?

I leaned my elbow on the windowsill. A damp spring breeze brushed my face and I closed my eyes. "What's Lady Allston like?"

It was several seconds before he answered. "Like a lady, I 'spose."

"But what does that mean? We don't have ladies in America."

He muttered something, but I only caught the word 'wrong.' As if England wasn't the wrongest and strangest place I'd ever been myself. "Rich. Fancy."

I waited, but he didn't continue. "That's all?"

"All that matters."

"Has she mentioned me? Why did my parents send me here? Has she always known about me?"

"Don' know."

I sighed and sat back against the velvet seat. From the rough canvas bag on the seat next to me I pulled a blue ribbon and rubbed my thumb against the pewter deer pendant hanging from it. It was the only intact thing the firefighters had found in the ruins of my house the next morning. It felt like a joke, to have my mother's favorite necklace but not her, or even anything useful, but I couldn't find it in myself to throw it out. I lifted the deer to my nose and took a deep breath. Beneath the tang of metal, the scent of freshly baked bread and daffodils clung to the ribbon. It was already much fainter now, two months after the fire. I dreaded the day when I wouldn't smell her on the necklace at all.

Something appeared in the corner of my vision and I looked out the window again. A dark shape rose from the horizon, sharp lines and shadows forming the details of a building. It was three stories tall and made of dark red brick, with at least four chimneys stretching from the roof and more windows than I'd ever seen at once. The glass was so clean and clear that sunlight reflected sharply off it, making me squint my eyes. A fence made of curling wrought iron surrounded the property, and the yard within was trimmed and dotted with pointed trees. At the gate, the dirt road turned to cobblestones and led in a half circle to the front door.