When Francie and Colt Hart drive past an abandoned 150-year-old farmhouse in rural Pennsylvania, they both fall head-over-heels in love with it -- but for entirely different reasons. Colt, an ambitious, hard-charging stock trader, sees it as a potential showcase for his wealth. Francie, long dependent on antidepressants, hopes it will inspire her to resume the literary life she abandoned when she married Colt ten years before; perhaps, she thinks, it will save their faltering marriage. But the more they learn about the house, and especially the tragic history of its previous occupants (whose descendants are their new neighbors), the more it threatens to drive them apart. This P.S. edition features an extra 16 pages of insights into the book, including author interviews, recommended reading, and more.

PART ONE

Going Home

3

(8)

The End of the Golden Age

11

(14)

The Brass Ring

25

(12)

The Blood of Angels

37

(8)

A Historical Digression

45

(20)

PART TWO

The Prescription

65

(18)

Things as They Ought to Be

83

(6)

Survival of the Fittest

89

(10)

The Chicken of Despair

99

(8)

Drink This to Make It Better

107

(12)

The Visitor

119

(6)

White Men from the Future

125

(12)

The Diary of Marly Musgrove

137

(14)

The Cemetery

151

(10)

Breathing

161

(8)

Zero-G

169

(16)

A Historical Digression (Continued)

185

(22)

PART THREE

Where Old Machines Come to Die

207

(18)

Rumors

225

(8)

Cruelty

233

(10)

Disinterment

243

(4)

The Necrophobe

247

(14)

The Morgue

261

(6)

The Collision

267

(4)

The Confession

271

(8)

Forgiveness

279

(18)

Judgment

297

(12)

The Offer

309

(18)

Heading North

327

(4)

The Hearing

331

(10)

A Historical Digression (Concluded)

341

(12)

PART FOUR

The Turkey of Bliss

353

(12)

Getting Ready

365

(6)

Once More to the Apartment

371

(4)

Everything Is Connected

375

(12)

To Live at Adencourt

387

(10)

Sold

397

(2)

Epilogue

399

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The Good Neighbor
A Novel

Chapter One

In the morning, the river seemed flat and still. At this early hour,there was no depth to it; it was as if one could bend down andpinch the water between thumb and forefinger and just peel itaway, like a bandage, and underneath, the earth would be dry.There would be bones down there, and other secrets, too, whisperingof the things that had already happened in that place, aswell as things that were to come -- but they wouldn't have knownany of this, not yet.

They came around that last bend in the road, where the bluffends and the river plain begins, and the valley opened up beforethem like a drawing from a long-forgotten children's book. Therewas the house on one side of the road, and the thin, silent river onthe other. Growing along the river were trees in profusion -- Francie saw wise sycamores, tentative birches, and weeping willows,as well as several sprightly young oaks and one stately oldone. In their brilliant headdresses, they seemed to her like torchesthat had been stuck in the earth and left there to glower against the ragged gray belly of the sky. It was fall, the best time of theyear in that part of the world.

Later, like jealous explorers, they would argue about who hadseen the house first, Francine or Coltrane. It was difficult to determine,because the house wasn't the only thing to come to the eyeonce one had swung around the bend. There was too much else tolook at. There were the rumpled mountains in the distance, forexample, unstriking in either height or appearance, but lending asoftening distraction to the scene, as if they were not real but abackground image done in paint or chalk. They looked like somethingyou could jump into, Francie thought, like the park scene inMary Poppins. Also, there was the river, and all around them, thebroad, fecund fields, whose varying greenness was still defiant andbright, so early was it still in this new season of dying. There wasthe road, which unspooled over the hilltop in the foreground like arunaway ribbon. But, really, it was the trees that got you first,with their colors of priestly saffron and Martian red.Francie would later tell Colt that he could not possibly haveseen the house first, because he was driving, and it was tuckedaway on her side of the car. She let him have credit for discoveringthe river, because she didn't care about the river. She only caredabout the house, and from the moment she saw it -- it really wasshe who saw it first, though they both exclaimed about it at thesame time -- it was as if she'd never cared about any other place inher life until now.

"Pull over!" said Francie, although Colt was already doing it.

They parked at the side of the road, not daring the driveway,just looking up at the house. Then, after they'd sat in silence forseveral moments, she said to her husband, "I'd love to live heresomeday."

She expected him to make fun of her for this, but instead, toher astonishment, he said:

"Yeah, so would I."

One could see that this house was old, cut patiently by hand fromliving hardwood and frozen stone. There was a wraparound porch,ornamented with Victorian-style gingerbread cutouts and a swingon a chain, but the gingerbread was new and pretentious, clearlyout of place. Whoever had put it there was trying too hard, Franciethought. If it was up to her, she'd take it down. There were three stories,plus what looked to be an attic, or a half-story of some sort. Asmall round window hinted that it might be interesting up there.

"That's where they kept the demonic stepchild," said Colt."Until it killed all of them in their sleep."

"Shut up," said Francie. "Don't ruin it." Like you ruin everythingelse, she thought.

"Can a place like this actually be empty?" Colt wondered.

Timidly, they got out of the car and headed across the vastfront lawn. Nobody came out to see what they wanted. No dogsbarked. They went up the steps, Francie first, fearless now, andshe pounded on the door. Without waiting for an answer, shewent to one of the windows and put her face up to it, shading hereyes from the glare on the wrinkled old glass. She already knewthat everyone was gone.

"Don't be so nosy," said Colt. "Maw and Paw will come after uswith a shotgun."

"It's vacant," said Francie. "Nobody lives here."

She showed Colt the sitting room. Clean outlines on the wallsand floor proved that it had been occupied in exactly the sameway for a long time, and then had suddenly been emptied all atonce, like a sink whose plug had been pulled.

"They were all murdered," Colt said darkly. "I can tell."

"They were not," said Francie. Normally it worked when Coltwas trying to scare her, but this time she knew he was lying. "It'sgot a ... a feel to it. Alive. They liked it here."

"They? They who?"

"Everyone. Right down to the cats," she said. "Even the micewere happy."

"I wonder if it has termites," said Colt. "Probably does."

Without bothering to stop and ask each other what they weredoing, they wandered around to the back.

Excerpted from The Good Neighbor: A Novel by William Kowalski
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.