The Dark Unwinding (28 page)

I opened my eyes and found my uncle’s face just a few inches from my own, his expression perturbed. “You are too silent, Simon’s baby. I do not like silence. It leaves empty places in my head.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle. Did Lane say anything else? About going away?”

“Oh, yes!” Then he whispered, “Oh, yes. He said that sometimes people go away, and sometimes they come back.”

Lane had said they come back.

“Does that make you happy, too, Simon’s baby?”

I looked into the two bright eyes that were searching for my happiness. “Yes, Uncle. Very much so.”

“Sometimes they come back. Lane always knows.” He sighed and pointed to the portrait of my guardian. “She came back.”

I had decided who the portrait must be many weeks ago, but I’d never asked, not wanting to be wrong. “Did she, Uncle?” I whispered.

“Oh, yes! Marianna was very tired, then. But you are her before she was tired, aren’t you, little niece?”

Oddly this made perfect sense to me. I smiled. “Would you like to go listen to the clocks, Uncle? Until we’re sleepy? Tomorrow is the day for new things.”

“Ticking is very good. Clocks should always tick, so they can tell you when.”

I blew out one of the candles, left it on the floor, and we started down the hallway together. I wondered how many ticks until a ship sailed for France, and when the wind might blow that ship back again. I wondered if I could make the clocks tick faster, if time would do the same. The idea pleased me so much that I said, “Perhaps we should wind them up, Uncle Tully.”

“Wind them?” Uncle Tully seemed shocked. “Oh, no! No! It’s not the day, little niece! Not the right day! You have to wait for the right time and turn them the right way. The other way is backward. Marianna said we have to wait and turn the right way, Simon’s baby. That’s what is best.”

I took his hand. “You’re perfectly right, Uncle.”

The Victorian estate in
The Dark Unwinding
was inspired by England’s Welbeck Abbey, where the reclusive fifth Duke of Portland built a mile-long tunnel for his carriage and a vast ballroom and library that were both completely underground. By 1870, he had erected his own gasworks, iron-and-glass stables, marble-floored cowsheds, painted every room of his sprawling mansion pink, and regularly encouraged his employees to roller-skate. The Duke’s massive building projects depleted his family fortune, while at the same time providing work, food, and shelter for an estimated 1,600 men over a twenty-year period — men that might have otherwise died in poverty with their families. Madness or benevolence? History has never quite decided.

No author writes a book alone. The only real surprise is that just one name ends up on the spine. A myriad of people have given their weekends, their workdays, their homes, gone out on a literary limb, and generally exercised never-ending patience and understanding to help make this book happen. The following are just a few members of my tribe. You all have my love, respect, and thanks.

First, the wise, supportive, talented, and infinitely dear critique partners that were willing to read my drafts, and then read them again, and then read them again, and most importantly, tell me what was wrong with them: Genetta Adair, Hannah Dills, Amy Eytchison, Rachel Griffith, Rae Ann Parker, Courtney Potter, Linda Ragsdale, Ruta Sepetys — thank you for your friendship, endless cheerleading, and your cabin’s creative mojo! — Howard Shirley, Angelika Stegmann, and Jessica Young.

My smart and savvy agent, Kelly Sonnack, who was perfectly aware she was signing on an unproven writer with one book that was way too long and significantly lacking in commercial appeal: Why, oh, why did you do it, Kelly, and where would I be if you hadn’t? Your guidance and belief have made all the difference to my career, and I thank my lucky stars for it.

My lovely and talented editor, Lisa Sandell, who combines beauty, grace, and the ability to correctly use the word
who
to devastating effect: Thank you for your wisdom, patience, and incredible insight, and for taking such a huge chance on me! The book has reached a new level because of you.

To the editorial, production, marketing, sales, and publicity staffs; Book Clubs and Book Fairs; the design and foreign rights teams; and all the others that worked behind the scenes in ways I’ll never know: You gave me something to be proud of, and then sent it out across the country and the seas. Thank you.

The Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators: Thank you for giving me inspiration, knowledge, and a really big award. You showed me that I could think of myself as a professional long before I actually was.

The Sue Alexander Most Promising New Work Award selection committee: You strapped me to the catapult of change. Things moved pretty fast from there.

My offspring, Christopher, Stephen, and Elizabeth, who didn’t mind all those times Mom was out of town, lost in deep, deep thought, or just super excited about really nerdy things: Thanks for turning out okay in spite of me.

And last, everlasting love and appreciation to Philip, who built balancing boats, drew schematics, played with gyroscopes, learned everything there ever was to know about a gasworks at any period in history, described lever switches, researched canal building, and cooked up volatile and foul-smelling explosives in our basement. And all just for me. What more could a girl want?