“No,” Leila said, shaking her head. She closed her eyes, hoping to hear something, anything. “Wait! Yes. A grove beyond the home?”
“Hm,” Landon huffed, nodding, and looked up at the decaying house in the woods. “You sure you’ve never actually been here before?”
“Yes, why?”
“It’s just, sorry, but you just keep talking about things only a few people even know about.” Landon shook his head. “Like, the rangers make it a point to keep people away from here, with the building falling apart and all. This voice of yours say anything else?”
“Not yet.” Leila shrugged. Landon stared at her, his eyes set and focused. It wasn’t the sort of look she’d expected to get after admitting to all this. She’d expected . . . well, she wasn’t sure what, exactly. She’d only spent a little time with him at the Trust, and now this hike, and all along he’d been mostly standoffish, a bit cold. She thought he would be afraid of her. Stare at her like something was wrong.
The way she feared Jon and Lisabeth would look at her.
But here was this boy who she hardly knew, looking at her as though he believed and understood her. Maybe she didn’t need to hide anymore.
“Let’s keep going,” Landon said, nodding ahead.
Stretched out in front of them were the remains of the Thomas Mansion, a tall, once-beautiful, old building that resembled a lot of the older, larger homes found in the historic district of Philadelphia. It was made of large blocks of stone stacked together, sealed up with plaster and concrete, the lines since aging into brown and black. The stones were dark gray, and all the spaces where doors and windows had once swung open and closed were just empty, hollow spaces.
Leila squinted, spotting holes in the roof, and what looked like branches starting to peek out the top. Thick coats of ivy curled up the stone fa?ade in a way that made it seem like they were the only thing holding the building up.
“Any ideas?” Leila asked.
“One,” Landon said, still staring at the house. “Here, let’s walk around.”
Leila followed Landon as they skirted about the side of the giant home. When she peeked inside, Leila spotted the ruin of the interior: Floorboards with gaping holes, a break in the second floor that let you see straight up through the roof, plants and moss growing out of everything. Beams of sunlight shone in through the breaks, and dust particles danced in the light.
“I can see why they want to tear this place down, I guess,” Leila said, shrugging and shaking her head. “It was probably really lovely a long time ago.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. It’s still lovely,” Landon stressed, turning to look at her and then up at the building. He placed a hand on the hard, granite stone of the house, and bits of dirt and detritus crumbled to dust on the ground. “This was built for the World’s Fair in 1876, to honor the hundred-year anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.” Landon took a step back, looking around at the side of the building with his hands on his hips.
“What are you looking for?” Leila asked.
“Just a sec,” he muttered, and walked back to the front of the building. Leila followed, watching Landon look about, then his eyes finally settled on something covered in branches and brambles. He darted over to it, pulling the shrubbery away to reveal a large stone with a dirty bronze plaque on it, its edges the blackish-green of years of wear.
“There we go,” he said, hands back on his hips, looking at the sign proudly. “See?”
The Thomas Mansion
Built for the Centennial International Exhibition in 1876, the Thomas Mansion was famously used as a cottage for visiting dignitaries and government officials in attendance. Close to ten million people from around the world traveled to Philadelphia for the 1876 World’s Fair, in celebration of the one-hundredth anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence.
It was during the exhibition that inventions such as the typewriter, telephone, and sewing machine were first presented to the world. Designed by celebrated architect Herman J. Schwarzmann, the Thomas Mansion is one of five remaining structures from the 1876 World’s Fair, including Memorial Hall.
“Yeah, I don’t understand,” Leila said, scowling at the plaque. “How does something like this end up like that?” She pointed at the mansion, and Landon walked towards it, shaking his head.
“The same reason most beautiful things get left behind. Lack of time, lack of interest. It’s a bit too far out into the park for tourists, really,” Landon said, sighing. “I’ve been trying to save it for years, ever since I was a little kid. I started some websites, posted on message boards, ran a few social media campaigns and all that. A couple of my fellow rangers and I come out here now and again to clean it up.” He shrugged, and then turned to his owl. Milford gave him an empty glance.
“Wait, other rangers?” Leila asked, remembering what the voices had said.
“Sure, I’m not the only one who cares about the history of this place.”
“No, I’m sure.” Leila thought. “It’s just, the voices. The voice. It said something about you and your brothers. Maybe it, she, whatever, thinks that you’re, you know, brothers-in-saving-things, not actually brothers.”
“Hm.” Landon nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose. As much as whatever is happening here can make sense. We are all in our uniforms whenever we come out here.” He sighed. “It’s just too bad. Not matter how much we do, how hard we try to make it look nice, the park commission is planning to tear it down in the next year or so. They’re building some kind of amphitheater out here, with a new road tearing in through the trees from Kelly Drive and everything. So much is going to go. This place. The Trust. Huge sections of the park, just to make room for the road to get here. It kills me.”
When he mentioned the Trust, Landon looked at Milford with a sadness in his eyes that was unbearable to look at. The little bird would lose his home and his most ardent protector. Leila’s heart wrenched in her chest. The parallels weren’t hard to see, and were certainly easy to feel.
“That’s a shame,” Leila said, turning away and walking back up to the building to avoid the sore subject. He wasn’t prying, and she didn’t want to either. She ran her hand over the rough granite stonework, bits of debris flaking off as she pressed against the grainy surface. She gazed at the long vines of ivy that dug into the rock, the purple and brown roots holding firm in the solid stone.
She brushed her hands over one of the ivy’s leaves, and jolted back.
Leila!
The voice came screaming into her head, loud and clear, intense, as if it was being channeled through the plants she had just touched.
You’re almost here.
Leila fell to the ground next to the broken building, where bits of rocks and broken twigs bit into her knees. She gripped her head as pain blossomed under the head scarf.
He has led you here. Come to me, my child.
“St-stop. Rock. Ivy. St-stone.” Leila chanted, the pain pounding against her skull. Landon rushed over and bent down. She could feel him hovering over her and the loud flapping of Milford’s single wing.
Come to me.
“What is it?” Landon said, his voice calm and soothing. “Should I call—”
“No. No, I . . . I don’t know. We’re almost there, I think,” Leila continued, pushing herself up. She felt an arm wrap around hers, and looked up to find Landon helping her to her feet. Her body froze up, like ice was running through her veins, and she forced herself to relax, to push back the anxiety and the fear. Landon held her up, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other steadying her shoulder. He looked at her, his eyes full of concern and worry. The glance seemed to be returned by Milford, his yellow eyes strangely sad.