The Cliffs by J. Courtney Sullivan
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\nThe crumbling Victorian had been a bandoned long before Jane ever discovered it as a child. It was painted a sweet violet color\, and the gingerbread trim was blue and green\, but ins ide was shambles--broken glass\, a dollhouse ravaged by mice\, bed sheets twisted as though someone had left in a hurry. Still\, the house became a hideaway whenever Jane needed to escape her volatile mother. Twenty years later\, now a Harvard archivist\, she returns home to Maine following the dissolution of her marriage and is horrified to find the Victorian is bare ly recognizable. A rich lady from Beacon Hill has gutted it\, and in its p lace stands a glossy white mansion straight out of a shelter magazine. But the home's new owner is unhappy. Her young son claims to have been speaki ng to the ghost of a child\, and she keeps finding marbles on the floor. T roubled that she might have done something to anger the spirit world\, a c oncept Jane dismisses as daffy\, the wealthy woman hires her to research t he land. The story Jane uncovers--of husbands lost at sea\, wives mourning along the cliffs\, historical artifacts stolen and sold\, lovers secreted away\, and\, at the center of it all\, a tale of colonialism--is as old a s Maine itself.
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