The crumbling Victorian had been abandoned 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 inside was shambles--broken glass, a dollhouse ravaged by mice, bedsheets 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 barely recognizable. A rich lady from Beacon Hill has gutted it, and in its place 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 speaking to the ghost of a child, and she keeps finding marbles on the floor. Troubled that she might have done something to anger the spirit world, a concept Jane dismisses as daffy, the wealthy woman hires her to research the 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 as Maine itself.