Glass House 1

Glass House was not glass. Even from the backseat, while they were still quite a ways down the driveway, Hazel could tell it was not at all what she had expected. She had imagined it as a massive ancient greenhouse. Now, she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that it wasn’t. The way her parents talked about it - how it had been abandoned for so long, was probably too old and broken to be good for anything, would most likely cost less to tear down rather than fix up. She had begun to think they had inherited a giant pile of broken glass, broken, grown-over glass lying under the bent skeletal frame of some elaborate old conservatory. As they drove closer Hazel began to wonder, more than she ever had, about her father’s family. How had he inherited all this? Were they nobility or something? The house, if that was a big enough word for it, looked like a monument of stone and wood - something between a mansion and a castle. And, for the first time since meeting her, Hazel found herself quite suddenly interested in whatever Mrs. Murray was saying.  Listening to her was difficult, though. When they’d entered the town Hazel had pulled her headphones down round her neck to hear the conversation. Now, however, with the way her dad was driving, she was having trouble focusing on anything but holding on.

Mrs. Murray was in the passenger seat next to Hazel’s dad, plowing on in spite of his driving. She had been since the moment she’d met them at the airport. She was nice and cheerful. But, she was also, without a doubt, the most talkative person Hazel had ever encountered. They must have been in the car for several hours together and the woman had not stopped talking even once. Hazel, realized in the first hour or so of the trip, that Mrs. Murray intended to talk the whole way. So, she had resorted to blocking her out. She felt a little bad that she was sort of abandoning her dad to be the sole recipient of Mrs. Murray’s verbal flood. Robert Walsh didn’t seem to mind though. He was much more extroverted and patient than his daughter. He listened happily to Mrs. Murray as he drove through the countryside. He probably found the old woman charming because of her accent. He seemed perfectly content to let her talk for as long she wanted. She had taken on the role of “tour guide” when she heard they had never been to Europe before. Instead of letting them just take it in, she had insisted on pointing out every notable landmark from the airport to the house. She also asked a million questions and was the type of person to fixate on the one thing you wish no one would even notice. She had latched onto Hazel’s old stuffed animal the moment after she introduced herself at the curb outside the airport. She clearly disapproved. Hazel was admittedly sensitive about him, but Mrs. Murray didn’t seem the type to pick up on social clues. And Hazel felt the need to defend herself.

“He’s really more of a pillow and he fits in my backpack, so I brought him, You know? For the flights.” As she said it, she tried to shove him as carelessly as possible into her backpack.

Mrs. Murray eyed it suspiciously, “What exactly is it dear?”

“Oh it’s some sort of grumpy penguin thing she got years ago,” Dad interjected. “Calls him Maru.” Then, as he loaded their two suitcases in the trunk of the car, he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper he knew Hazel could absolutely hear. “Don’t let her fool you,” he told Mrs. Murray. “She’s fully attached - takes him with her everywhere.”

“Dad.” Hazel folded her arms.

“She’s a bit touchy about it though…” he added to Mrs. Murray “you know teeeen-agers.”

Mrs. Murray eyed Maru, who definitely would not squeeze into the bag, but, then she smiled and nodded at Robert. Robert winked at Hazel behind Mrs. Murray’s back as he helped her into the car.

Hazel rolled her eyes and shook her head. He was having the time of his life.

The bags that didn’t fit in the trunk were piled in the back seat next to Hazel, and then they were off. Close to the airport, the buildings and things were fascinating. It was all so much older and more ornate than anything Hazel had seen before. Mrs. Murray was happily giving a history lesson and repeatedly lamenting the fact that they had no time for her to show them around the city. But, they were soon past all that and the drive north opened into a landscape of almost identical sprawling hills. It was beautiful, but not as interesting, so Hazel had given up on trying to politely listen. She removed the elastic band from her dark hair and let it fall down over her ears. She pulled on her beanie and headphones and sank as far into the backseat as she could. Maybe Mrs. Murray would just think she’d fallen asleep. Maybe she would fall asleep. It had been a very long flight. After a while, Mrs. Murray’s voice faded into an indecipherable, and only mildly annoying, buzz that showed up in the space between songs. Hazel relaxed and took in the countryside. She did doze on and off once or twice and maybe even fell asleep for a time. She had a momentary feeling of panic the first time she was jostled awake by a pot hole. She yelped and gripped the seat in front of her before she remembered they were supposed to be driving on the left side of the road. Dad smiled at her, but Mrs. Murray hadn’t appeared to notice. They had been driving in the tiny black mini for hours now. They only stopped once for “petrol” and twice for bathroom breaks. Hazel would have asked how far they had to go if she could have gotten a word in.

Sleeping became impossible the further they went. The roads were clearly less maintained where they were going. It also began pouring rain.

Once, Robert pulled over to move a large tree branch that was blocking the whole road. He had to interrupt Mrs. Murray to do it too. “Just a minute,”  he called as he pulled up the collar of his jacket and dove out of the car. Hazel watched as he wrestled with the branch and as Mrs. Murray wrestled with the fact that she’d had to swallow her words for several moments.

“…though Col. Walsh wasn’t the first to come to Glenaig of course,” she shouted through the open door as Robert got back in the driver’s seat. “Oh my, you’re completely soaked! So, sorry about that! We have had some storms the last few days, and this is a low point in the road. The drive at Glass House might not be much better, I’m afraid. There’s not a groundskeeper employed there at the moment, as you know from my email. It’s been sitting empty for so long most people tend to forget about it.”

“No worries! ” Dad said cheerfully and a little out of breath. He ran a hand through his wet hair to stop it dripping into his face and then turned around to Hazel. “How you doin kiddo?”

“Tired,” Hazel said and handed him one of the leftover napkins from their airport lunch.

He wiped his face and got the car back on the road. It wasn’t long after that, they pulled into the village of Glenaig. The drive through the town was a short one as the town was tiny. Hazel could not see much looking into the darkness through the rain drenched windows of the car. All she could make out were a few very old looking buildings glowing with amber light through their windows. Just past town, the road jogged weirdly, straightened out again and then curved to the left. Mrs. Murray droned on.

“It’s not much,” she shrugged. “But, it’s old and well rooted. Course, the town had its heyday when the Colonel brought his family to it in the early 1840s.  Ah, there it is, see that tree up ahead? The odd one? That marks the entrance to the drive. There’s a gate just beyond. Seamus Gordon came by and opened it this morning… Or he should have done. I do hope there wasn’t a problem. Mr. Greer should be waiting for us.” She checked her watch and then began talking again as if she could speed up their arrival by speeding up the conversation.

Robert turned the corner and Hazel barely registered a huge iron gate spread open on either side of the entrance before he floored it. “Careful Robert! The drive has been very neglected! The Walsh’s were glass makers by trade. Did you know that Hazel?”

Robert did not slow down. He swerved and bumped along with Hazel gripping the back of his seat. He only leaned forward. She had the impression he was engaged in some silent competition with Mrs. Murray. Maybe he was seeing what it would take to get her to be quiet? Mrs. Murray, apparently, could go on talking through anything. She gripped her bag in her lap and powered on as if she was determined to say as much as possible before the car stopped. For Hazel, it was increasingly hard to focus on what she was talking about.

“…moved to the village to open the factory…all gone now….fire…dangerous but…”

Hazel was trying to not grit her teeth. The pot holes were so jarring, she was afraid they’d break.

“…days of mass production. I do think you should slow a bit Robert!” Mrs. Murray’s eyes widened after a particularly violent swerve. But she attempted to turn back and smile at Hazel. Her eyes were too wide and panicked to be convincing though. She braced one hand on the dash and continued her history. “Can you believe everything was made by hand before that?! All the glass! Can you imagine it?” Hazel shook her head. “The Walshes produced windows and doors that were sold all over Europe.” Her voice was increasing in pitch as well as volume now.

Hazel couldn’t see, but she pictured the same maniacal grin on her dad’s face that she’d witnessed whenever he played Mario Cart with her bother.

“…Col. Walsh was something of a celebrity, you know!” Mrs. Murray yelled. Hazel couldn’t do anything but brace herself with one hand, white knuckles on the door handle and the other on the roof of the car. 

“….exceptionally good looking family. Threw the most lavish parties. People came from all over to visit.”

Through this torrent of words, Hazel finally saw an opening in the great trees ahead. She leaned forward as best she could, ducking to see through the mad swishing of the wipers on the front windshield as the house came into view. Her dad too, was leaning far over the steering wheel, which he gripped with both hands.

Finally, the trees along the lane fell back, the rainy view opened up, and the drive curved into a circle in front of Glass House. Robert hit the breaks and the car slid several inches through the mud.

“Ah… yes, well, here we are! Isn’t it something?!” Hazel thought there was more relief than awe in Mrs. Murray’s tone.

But, it was something.

Mrs. Murray, breathing heavily, straightened her coat and hair and smiled weakly at them both.

There was another car already parked and idling near the entrance. It shined an eerie light up onto the building. Sighing deeply, Mrs. Murray slid out of the car. She stumbled a minute before smoothing her skirt and popping open a tiny green umbrella. Then, she straightened herself, plastered on a smile, and gestured for them to follow.

  Robert looked back at his daughter with wide eyes. Hazel unwrapped her hand from the door handle and glared at him. “I know what you were trying to do,” she said.

“That woman has a remarkable talent,” Robert grinned.

Hazel shook her head. There was a little scramble to find the umbrellas that had been tucked into the bags piled up next to her before they stepped out into the wet night.  Hazel finally stood and stretched and looked up from under her umbrella. Robert came and stood next to her.  “Wow!” he whispered. “Can you believe this ridiculous thing is ours?”

“No,” Hazel said. “I think someone made a very big mistake.”

Robert laughed and put an arm around her.

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