by R. J. Bonett
I even hope she’s enjoying the house I put so much work into. That’s why I couldn’t wait to finally get that all settled physically and emotionally. I was getting excited about finally resurrecting this place that been sitting there waiting for me.
There was something strange about that house. On one hand it was structurally sound, and I could see all kinds of remodeling possibilities. All the land that came with it was like having a country estate! And yet, there was something about the place- a strange foreboding. Was it something telling me to buy this particular place? Why this one? I had looked at so many properties. Was it pure luck that I stumbled on this property at such an amazing price? Why? The land alone was worth what I paid for the entire property, including the house, the barn and that strange little room at the top of the stairs.
Chapter 2
What’s that ahead? Break lights? That’s a flashing light from a police car. Traffic seems to be slowing down. Damn, I hope it’s not an accident. I don’t want to be tied up too long; it’s getting late. We’re almost to a stop here, with only two more exits before I get off. Ah, good, the traffic’s beginning to move again. Whatever it was must be clear now.
Slowly moving forward with my blinking lights on, I could see a tractor- trailer off to the side of the road. It must have slid on the wet surface trying to negotiate the curve, and the trailer end was lying on its side with some of its contents spilled. Doesn’t look like anyone’s hurt. Thank God.
I thought of my ex, always complaining about the long ride and how it would be dangerous in the winter. Was it a legitimate concern for me? I couldn’t tell. Of course, coming up here in the winter was something I wouldn’t do, but I’m sure it was only another excuse not to like the place, of that I was certain. Especially after seeing the place in the condition it’s in, and not being able to grasp its possibilities.
The traffic flow is picking up, and that should get me back on schedule. It would only be another 20 minutes before getting to the exit. Being familiar with the toll amount, I turned on the inside light and went through my pocket to get the exact change, putting it in the ashtray along with the ticket. Finally reaching the exit, I slowed down to negotiate the sharp turn on the rain- slick road and pulled up to the toll booth.
“Good Evening! I just drove up from Philadelphia. Has it been raining here all day?” I asked, making conversation with the toll collector as I handed him the ticket and money. He made no attempt to conceal his boredom seemingly ignoring my question.
“Has it been raining here all day?” I repeated before he finally responded, “Let me see now. Not just today, but the last three days.” A flutter of something approximating a smile came across his face. “Typical fall weather, how was the road coming up?”
“It’s been raining in the city all day, but the trip up wasn’t too bad. I did see a tractor- trailer lying on its side.”
Suddenly looking up concerned, making eye contact for the first time he asked, “Where was that?”
“A couple of exits back. It looked like it just slid off the road. The police were there, and I didn’t see any ambulances, so I guess nobody was hurt.”
“That must be the one I heard about. The state police were through here a while ago and told us about it. They try and keep us informed about any changes, so we can alert drivers about traffic conditions. Here’s your receipt. Thanks for letting me know. Have a nice weekend.”
“Do you know anything about the road conditions going to Canton?”
He replied, “I’m not familiar with Canton. Where is it?”
“It’s just past Towanda.”
“I haven’t heard anything, but be careful of the deer on the road. They’re usually moving around quite a bit, it’s their rut season.”
“Yeah, I noticed a few that must have been hit lying on the side of the road on the way up. Have a nice night.”
I was a little more than 50 miles from my final destination, as I pulled out on the secondary road for the last leg of my journey. Being dark with the rain coming down a little harder, dense patches of fog were in some of the small valleys on the winding road. Being in the mountains, the air was a little cooler, so I turned up the heater to compensate.
I put aside the thought of the conversation with the toll collector and refocused my mind on what the house would look like after I finished the reconstruction. It was built in the 1880s on an older foundation, that hadn’t been mapped on any prior property descriptions. I surmised that, by a stone in the basement wall that read, “Smythe 1772”. The stone is part of the stone steps that lead to the outside from the basement. The room was probably part of the foundation of a root cellar years ago, before the current house was built and probably used for storing vegetables after the harvest. It made more sense to enlarge the existing foundation and use it as part of the basement for the current house.
I secured the property through a realtor who represented the owner. He was from New Jersey and only purchased it two years before I bought it. I only met him once at the settlement and wondered why he was selling it again so soon.
He seemed to be a cold sort of fish, and when I asked about the property, he seemed reluctant to talk about the house or his reason for selling it, and I wondered why. I thought to myself, ‘Maybe he was married to a Jennifer too.’
The house was a typical older style farmhouse. It was originally three rooms on the first floor and three bedrooms on the second, with a room I couldn’t quite figure out. It couldn’t have been a bedroom. It was too small. It looked more like a large closet. But why did it have a window? That’s what puzzled me. I couldn’t think of many good reasons, but I could think of many weird ones. I assumed someone living in the area, perhaps a descendant of one of the earlier occupants, would have a logical explanation.
The first floor had a living room, dining room and kitchen, and an extension on one side that was built years later. It probably served as an extra bedroom until they converted it to a bathroom after indoor plumbing was introduced. The kitchen had original handcrafted cabinets painted white. They extended to the ceiling and made the kitchen look rustic, giving it a unique personality. I wanted to salvage them for restoration, if it was at all possible.
I laughed again, as I thought of my ex, trying to function in that kitchen.
A coal furnace was in the middle of the dirt floor in the basement, and at some point years ago, it was converted to an oil burner as a source of heat. It worked, thanks to the previous owner’s efforts on that front and I knew during the reconstruction, it would be a major change, but for the time being, it would have to remain as I worked on other priorities.
At some point in the past, wooden shelves were built on one wall, resembling a corner pantry. They were used for storing Mason jars of food that was canned during the growing season. There were still a few on the shelves, but the lids and rims were rusted, and I couldn’t identify the contents, but wasn’t about to tempt fate and try sampling what was in them.
The barn across the road looked much older than the house, with its hand hewn beams and wooden pegs holding the joints together. Some of the beams were 20 feet in length, and with the adz marks visible, you could tell they were made when someone was straddling a log, slowly cutting away chunks to form the square beam. It told the tale of someone working hard to make a home and livelihood for himself and his family. Having a little knowledge about working with power tools, I knew what kind of effort was expended by the person that built the barn. Sorry to say, but through years of neglect and the roof leaking, some of the beams, along with the underlying structure in spots, were soft and rotted, and I knew the expense of restoring it would be prohibitive.
I remember the conversation standing in the barn with the realtor the day he was showing me the property for the first time. The sidewalls are missing a few boards, and the ones still there are split and weathered from age and have a grayish color to them.
Pigeons and barn swallows didn’t have a problem entering without coming in through the open sliding door. They were nested everywhere. When we entered the barn, several pigeons took flight, but barn swallows being an aggressive bird, dive bombed us immediately, coming at our heads forcing us to duck.
After a few minutes, they realized we weren’t a threat and seemed to settle down but always kept a watchful eye at how close we were to their nest.
The wind was whipping down the mountain that warm sunny day, coming through the open spaces where boards were missing. The realtor jokingly remarked, ‘It’s even air-conditioned.’
With a smile and a nod, I acknowledged him saying, “This barn’s in pitiful condition. It’s going to have to go.”
“Do you know any contractors in the city? They might take the barn down for nothing, just for the old beams and boards. Some people like that rustic look.”
“I use to know two, but they went out of business. It’s hard to make a buck in that town.”
“Why’s that?”
Pulling on a rope suspended from a track in the ridge of the barn that was used to move hay bales, I replied, “Taxes are through the roof, and according to one of them, everyone has their hand in your pocket.”
Giving me a strange look he asked, “What do you mean, ‘Hand in your pocket?’”
“Every building inspector: the city with its taxes. He just couldn’t take it anymore and wound up getting a job as a maintenance man at the airport. He doesn’t have to worry about getting construction jobs, or any of the other crap he was forced to deal with. As a plus, he gets all the benefits of paid vacation, holidays, and free medical. It’s a shame though. He was a good contractor.”
The realtor seemed surprised and gave me a look of skepticism at what I was relating, but I assured him it was no exaggeration.
I remember him saying prodding me for a sale.
“Well, what do you think about the property?”
When I asked him about the generous price the owner was asking, he said something about the owner wanting a quick sale, and I just happened to come along at the right time.
“I think in spite of its faults, I’m always up for a challenge, especially one I can afford. I’ll buy it. Let me get my checkbook from the car and write you a deposit.” I remember it as though it happened yesterday. That was in early August.
Putting the conversation aside with the realtor the day I committed myself to buying, I found myself getting sleepy. With nothing to listen to, trying to stay awake was becoming a problem. I put my hand out the window to get it wet then rubbed it on my face. The cool air rushing in for the few seconds I had the window down, felt refreshing, temporarily rejuvenating me. I told myself, “Stay awake! Stay the hell awake. You’ll be there soon.”
The storm had intensified with flashes of lightning only seconds ahead of claps of thunder, but I was finally there, turning onto the road that led to the house. When I pulled up in front of the old barn, several sets of eyes greeted me. Being tired from working and the long drive, I was startled at first, but as they passed in front of the head lights, I could see they were deer crossing the road going into the nearby woods. I had seen no other deer out, thanks to the storm, so it spooked me a bit.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ I thought, ‘Afraid of your own shadow, afraid of a few deer that didn’t have enough sense to stay in the thickness of the woods out of the storm?’
Reaching into the back seat, I got my sleeping bag and another bag with clothing I brought for the weekend. Anticipating getting out of the car, I waited for the next flash of lightning to see where the puddles were on the muddy road. I wanted to avoid stepping in them when I attempted to run for the shelter of the front porch, some 25 yards away.
With my hand on the door handle, I was about to fling it open when I saw something. It was a small red light that appeared on the road, coming in my direction. I turned the headlights on again to see what it was, blurred by the rain on the windshield. It’s a horse and buggy. I was startled at first, but remembered the realtor telling me the Amish were moving into the area, and relaxed, assuming this was one of them. In fact, I was looking forward to meeting them and gaining some understanding of their lifestyle and apparent disdain for the things most other people find so important. I assumed they would be good people to have around when you had construction projects too big for one set of hands.
With another bright flash of lightning as the wagon passed, I could see what looked like a man dressed in black with a woman whom I could only distinguish by the white rim of her head piece. They seemed almost like an apparition, and as they went by, the man seemed to stare angrily at me, as though I was an intruder. The woman staring straight ahead looked catatonic and without expression.
The look of hatred chilled me to the core, and I thought to myself, ‘I must be imagining what I’m seeing. I don’t know anyone who lives here.’ Thinking they were religious, I couldn’t imagine why he would have any reason to stare at me like that. Thinking my mind was still playing tricks, I dismissed it. The rain was coming down harder now, and I laughed at myself again for acting like a frightened kid.
Grabbing my sleeping bag and clothing bag, I quickly flung open the car door, shouting, “Damn! Damn! Damn!” as I sprinted across the road, trying to miss the mud puddles. After reaching the porch, I turned to look. The wagon wasn’t there; it was gone. Could it have gotten that far away in such a short time? I didn’t know.
“Let me find this damn key.” I dropped my bags and continued looking for it on my key ring. I thought to myself, ‘Why have your office keys, your apartment key and car keys on the same ring? Why not get a separate key ring tomorrow and end the confusion of searching?’ Between flashes of lightning, I was able to find the right key for the door, and after turning the knob, I went in.
The electricity was off due to the power outage, and the house wasn’t only cold, but damp from all the rain. As the toll collector mentioned, ‘It’s been raining for three days.’ ...and the cold dampness in the house verified his statement.
I was fortunate enough to think about bringing a flashlight and felt through my bag, finding it at the bottom. Lighting it didn’t seem to add much illumination to the room. I thought, ‘It would have been smart of you to try it before leaving home. You could have stopped on the way for batteries.’
Suddenly, I remembered finding a kerosene lantern in the basement on one of my prior visits. It was one thing left by a previous owner that actually worked. It should be on the kitchen table where I left it.
Going down the hall of the dark, damp chilly house, I was getting more help from the lightning flashes through the window than my flashlight. Walking into the kitchen, I spotted it right where I left it. So now I’m thinking, ‘Hey genius, what are you going to light it with?’
I scanned the room with the dimming flashlight thinking, ‘I’m in the kitchen, a country kitchen. They must have used matches to light things with. The stove had to be lit with a match.’ I looked in all the cabinets and began to search the drawer’s. There they are, in the stick match holder, hanging on the basement door next to the stove. Where else would they be, dummy?
With only the dull flashlight and surrounded by darkness, I thought I saw a shadow pass behind me and felt a cool breeze pass my face. Quickly turning, I scanned the room with my flashlight. No; nothing there. Suddenly a chill came over me and I shivered. I thought again, ‘What’s wrong with you, still afraid of the dark? I better get out of these wet clothes and put on my dry sweat suit.’
I struck the first match against the side of the match box. Damn, it didn’t light, it broke in two. Let me try another. Two, three, four, I hope they aren’t damp from being in this old house so long. Let me try again. Ah, finally, success! Now, how do I do this? I remember; you lift the globe, turn up the wick, and light it. With the slight smell of burning Kerosene as I
put the match to the wick, the light became brighter, traveling to the remotest parts of the room, and I immediately felt more comfortable being able to see my surroundings. Scanning the room once more to make sure I was alone, I carried the lamp into the living room placing it on the small end table. The only other furniture in the room was a sofa I moved in several weeks ago.
It was close to midnight, and all I could think of was getting dried off, putting on dry sweat clothes, and getting into my sleeping bag. I already had it unrolled on the couch and adjusted for my comfort. Another chill suddenly went through my body with the wet clothes I still had on, and I immediately began searching my bag for dry clothes. Before I took off my wet pants and shirt I went to the front window to make sure no one was outside, then laughed at myself. The nearest neighbor is about a quarter mile away, and who would be out in this weather wanting to look in my window?
Slipping my wet clothes off, I wondered. ‘Should I go back to the kitchen and hang these clothes over a chair to dry? Heck with it. I’ll hang them on the door knob until morning.’
Pulling my dry sweat pants up and putting on my sweat shirt, I looked through my bag for my toothbrush and toothpaste. With the aid of the lantern, I was able to guide my way into the bathroom and get ready for bed. I turned on the water to brush, and in a few moments, the water slowed to a trickle. Damn! I forgot. The water pump is electric, it’s off too. I should have brought a gallon of water. Luckily, I was able to finish brushing and returned to the living room. I extinguished the lantern and crawled into my awaiting sleeping bag, zipping it up like a caterpillar weaving a cocoon.
The only difference, in the morning I’ll still be me and the house will still look like it does- a mess.
I repeated to myself the toll collector’s remark. ‘It’s been raining for three days.’ I don’t know whether the electric was off all that time, but with the dampness in the house it sure feels like it. I reached over and turned down the lamp wick extinguishing the flame, then suddenly realized. What if no more matches light? I couldn’t worry about that now. That will have to be on my priority list to buy tomorrow. Laying there with only my face outside my sleeping bag, I began to feel the warmth of my own body heat returning to normal.
