Julien glared into the mirror again, but Arlette was now focused on turning the car at the top of the mountain, maneuvering around a tight bend, she broke through a clearing. They came out onto a lengthy, curving driveway. Looming one-hundred-yards away stood an enormous stark-white Victorian home. As they moved closer to the house, Arlette slowed the car to a crawl, allowing them time to take in the vast scene over the sound of crunching, newly laid, pea-gravel beneath the tires.
“Isn’t she incredible?” Arlette’s sales pitch continued. “Built in the late 1800’s.”
Julien said nothing as the car rolled onward, gradually approaching the spectacular manor. Into his view came the ornate detail of the jet-black trim, the wraparound porch and porch swing, instantly reminding him of his grandfather’s dairy— though his childhood home had been very modest. Atop the second story loomed a widow’s walk, which Julien felt sure would offer an endless view of the Catskill Mountains.
Two ducks followed by a trail of ducklings crossed the road ahead. The small yellow figures fumbled over one another, scampering to catch up with the adults. A smile spread across Julien’s face and he quickly caught himself; he didn’t want to appear overly impressed before they had a thorough look around, and negotiations were done and amicable. His eyes fell upon an old barn about sixty yards to the left of the house. It was weathered, but from a distance, it appeared to be in decent shape. Something caught his eye and he looked to the back, behind the barn. His father, coming through some trees and heading toward them, a bottle held low at his side, slapping against his leg. Julien felt his chest tighten and looked away. He shook the vision off violently.
What was that?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Arlette watched him in the mirror. “The barn could use a little TLC, but all the previous owners have only used it for storage.”
Slowly, Julien turned back to the barn.
Nothing.
No one.
My eyes, they are playing tricks.
Julien’s mouth went dry. He returned to the conversation. “All…? How many times has the house been sold?” He asked; his heart still beating fast.
Arlette, disappointed by her own careless choice of words, thought quickly, “Well, you know how it is… we get city folk moving up here with their romantic notion of country living. Then they move in and before you know it, they miss the bustle of the city. Now you have experience with country living, correct?”
“Yes. Like I told you, I grew up on a dairy farm in France.”
Arlette smiled. “Then there shouldn’t be a problem.”
Julien thought briefly about his childhood in the country and the many differences from city living. One did not know darkness until experiencing a country night. It was amazing how much light the city gave off; it was never truly dark. He looked over at Rachael, surprised to find her bright-eyed, attentive, and scanning the old impeccably maintained Victorian.
Arlette brought the car to a stop directly in front of the porch. Rachael immediately opened the door, rushing out of the car and leaving Julien behind.
Stunned, Julien slid out after her, but Rachael was already up the steps and opening the front door. Even Arlette seemed surprised when Rachael disappeared inside ahead of them. The agent rushed after her.
Julien lit a cigarette and remained by the car, scanning the property and all its glory. Between the home and the barn, he could see the ducks wallowing in a small pond; a decorative wooden bridge stretching from one side to the other. He listened for Rachael, fully expecting her to cry out for him, but she didn’t. He continued to look around outside for a while. He walked to the back of the house where he found an apple orchard. He couldn’t tell how far back it extended, but there were trees as far back as he could see. He came around to the other side of the house where a long line of maple trees stretched out in one evenly spaced row, small taps protruding from their bark; containers over-flowing with collecting sap. Full circle, he came back around to the car. He listened, but the house remained quiet. He looked out toward the barn again then made his way to the pond. The ducks noisily waddled out of the water, surrounding his legs then following him over the bridge. He opened the creaking barn door, entering, and leaving the ducks behind.
Inside, the barn was dark with only small streams of light seeping through the cracks. He noticed light fixtures void of bulbs strategically spaced on the walls. There was garbage strewn about, old boxes and broken tools, dried out bales of hay, and a few old paint cans. Faint noise came from beyond a far wall. He noticed a door, and through it he heard a recognizable cackle.
Chickens?
Two dented metal garbage cans sat on either side of the door. He opened one, exposing cracked corn, then the other, filled with green pellets.
Animal feed.
He took hold of the door handle and gave it a turn. A cacophony filled the air, frantic cackling as loud as firecrackers exploding all around him. He stepped into the large coop and closed the door behind him. It was well constructed of wood and wire, half the length of the massive barn and immaculately kept. There were chickens everywhere; some sitting on nesting boxes, others were gathering around his feet, still others scattering at the sight of him. He turned around. Another flash of movement caught his eye. He was sure he saw something outside the coops’ wire walls dart swiftly behind the side of the barn.
All we need is the two of us losing our minds.
He thought perhaps his eyes were deceiving him again, then shrugged it off and focused on the coop. No doubt the previous owners would be back for the birds or had made other arrangements for them. Chickens were messy and loud, and not anything he was interested in keeping. He wanted their lives to be simple now. The chickens would have to go. It dawned on him that, like Arlette, he too was referring to the property as if it was already his own. This would be a huge decision and making it rashly could be a disaster. For all he knew the inside of the house was dilapidated. Having seen enough of the surrounding property and its outbuildings, he decided it was time to tour the house.
Leaving the chickens behind, he stepped back into the barn. The birds quieted almost immediately. He headed off to find Rachael and the agent. On his way out of the barn, he noticed a tall ladder leading to a loft high above. He went to it, testing its integrity with a harsh shake.
Solid.
He gauged the loft to be about eighteen feet above ground and half the width of the mammoth structure. He tested the ladder again then ascended cautiously. About halfway up, he gave a fleeting glance downward. His grip tightened and he continued to the top; he wasn’t a fan of heights. Some of the rungs creaked beneath his weight and he wondered if he should even be attempting the climb, but continued on. Reaching the loft, he peered across the floor. Dust had settled thick, and cobwebs hung from all corners. Wings flapped loudly and an owl flew out of a large window, nearly startling him off the ladder.
Putain de merde!
Here is where you kill yourself.
He laughed it off and came up the final section of ladder, finding his footing high above the ground. He peered back down over the edge; his signature dive bomb whistle echoed through the air.
Now you have to get yourself back down.
He would figure out how after having a look around. The window, where the owl had escaped, was not a window after all, but rather a loading door. Just past the opening and hanging from the roof above was an old pulley, which Julien figured had been used to haul up hay bales back in the day. Holding on to the opening for dear life, he reached out to touch the rusted pulley and the apparatus immediately broke away, crashing to the ground below; startling him yet again. He laughed nervously and shook his head feeling foolish.
You broke it, you bought it, Julien.
He looked out at the breathtaking view. Green rolling hills, trees and mountains for miles. Glancing downward once again, he experienced immediate vertigo, and quickly stepped back on the creaking floor, far from the opening. Reaching out cautiously,
he swung open the other half of the loading door, broadening his view. The increased sunlight allowed him a better look around. Enamored by the space, he felt happier than he had in months; he began to formulate a plan.
If we decide to buy the place, I could make this my office.
Install a new pulley; get the desk up here…
A filing cabinet, my computer...
He moved back to the loft doors and looked in the direction of the house. There was no sign of Rachael or Arlette anywhere. He returned to the ladder, kneeling and maneuvering himself over the ledge. He descended slowly.
Note to self…
The wood snapped and Julien caught himself on the next rung, still twelve feet or more above the ground. “Nique ta mere!”
…replace the ladder.
We won’t tell Rachael about that.
Safely back on the ground, he headed off to the house. Coming up the front porch, he passed the hanging swing swaying delicately in the breeze. Again, he thought of his grandfather. He could almost smell the apple tobacco and hear the sound of cows mooing in the distance.
“Oh, Julien,” Rachael gushed, scampering down a long staircase inside. “It’s amazing. It’s so beautiful. There’s baseboard heating…no oil.” She knew this was one of his biggest concerns. “There’s an apple orchard and a maple grove out back. I can make maple syrup! There’s a thing…on top, like a room, but open…”
“A widow’s walk,” he provided, studying her bright eyes and wide grin for any sign of panic. She was talking so fast he could hardly understand her. She was more animated than she had been in so long; so suddenly normal.
“Oh Jules… come see.” She grabbed his hand and led him upstairs moving him through the house at warp speed.
“Okay, okay, slow down. Where’s the agent?”
What was her name again?
Rachael kept a tight grip of his hand, allowing him only a few seconds to take in each room before moving on to the next.
The home was beautifully maintained, both inside and out. The wood floors were polished and newly refinished. Each room had decorative molding with exquisite detail. It was vividly apparent that someone had done a lot of work here, carefully bringing the home up to date without compromising the original design.
Rachael stopped to throw her arms around his neck. She whispered into his ear, “Arlette said we could make an offer on the furniture if we want to keep it.”
Arlette! That’s her name.
Before Julien could respond, Rachael let go of him and ran off again. “And here, look…” She called out.
He followed her into the master bedroom where she tugged him toward an iron spiral staircase leading up into the widow’s walk.
There were no windows sealing them in, only large open sills where glass panes could have been. Julien’s assumption had been correct; the view seemed endless from the widow’s walk, as far out as his eyes could see into the distance. He stepped ahead of her and grasped the ledge, leaning out and drinking in the fresh air. Above him, the triangular ceiling shaded the deck. He looked down at the roof below, then out into the surrounding view. It was spectacular. He went to the other side and saw the barn where he spotted the ducks again swimming in the pond. A quick flash of movement caught his attention once again, and his eyes darted toward the coop. Positive now, he was seeing something real, though he could find no evidence to prove it. He would not mention any of this to Rachael for fear of setting off her anxiety.
“Come, let me show you the kitchen…the dining room…and there’s a mudroom, Jules. It has a sink and this huge table. Not a small mudroom—a huge room, right off the kitchen. It would be perfect for me to get back into sculpture, or to paint. Just come, let me show you.” She charged down the spiral stairs again.
“Rachael, slow down on this thing.” Before he could reach the bottom at his own, more cautious pace, she was gone. He heard her footsteps moving quickly down the main staircase and followed after her.
In the kitchen, they found Arlette and an array of paperwork spread out on an old farm table in the middle of the room. Julien briefly scanned the kitchen. It was recently remodeled with new wood-faced appliances and updated cabinetry, granite counter tops and a slate floor.
We’re in over our heads.
“Okay, you two. Your wife loves the place. What do you think, Mr. Grenier? Have you ever seen a home with such charm and personality?”
Julien nodded. “It is exquisite, yes. Nevertheless, Ms. Vandermark, this home is considerably higher in price than we planned.”
“Mr. Grenier, you can’t put a price on happiness.” She stared accusingly at him through bifocal glasses then looked over at Rachael, who was busy opening cabinets.
Julien followed Arlette’s manipulative gaze and he too watched Rachael for the moment. It was good to see her happy and full of life again. Nevertheless, he needed to be the practical one.
“Rachael, we should go home and talk, no?”
She whined, “Julien, no. If we don’t make an offer now, someone else will make one today. Arlette has two other couples coming to see the house after we leave.”
Julien hadn’t heard her child-like whine in ages. He watched Arlette digging inside her briefcase then asked, “You said the price was negotiable?”
He studied the agent closely and added, “and Rachael mentioned the furniture can be part of the sale.”
Arlette uncapped a pen. “The seller is quite motivated,” she replied. “Providing your offer is reasonable, that is.”
Julien looked away, pretending to examine the flattop stove.
He turned back to the agent. “You said the roof was new?” He hadn’t a clue what he was doing, or what questions to ask, but thought he should at least pretend to play the game.
“Last summer…I can show you the receipts.” Arlette began digging through her briefcase. “I also have the latest survey here and an estimate. You’ll have your own done, of course, but the home is estimated well over the asking price. Not a crack to be found in the foundation. They don’t build ‘em like this one anymore,” she said.
Never make a decision like this on impulse.
He looked back to Rachael who was mussing with curtains in the mudroom. Over his wife’s shoulder, through the window, he could see the barn in the distance. He stared at it long enough to cause Arlette to clear her throat impatiently before turning to take a seat at the table where he and the agent began working out the details.
Rachael left them, disappearing from the kitchen. It was not long before Julien made his offer and the paperwork was packed away in Arlette’s briefcase. He had lost track of Rachael now. The home was so large she could be anywhere, but all he could focus on was that, for the first time in months, she was not attached to his side. She was venturing off on her own again, wandering about without him. This was all the reassurance he needed.
I am making the right decision.
Arlette locked her briefcase with a loud snap. “Providing there isn’t a problem with the paperwork you’ll be the rightful owner of this home in thirty days, Mr. Grenier.” She beamed. “That’s the beauty of a short sale.”
Getting up from the table, she returned the chair to its appropriate place then leaned closer to Julien, whispering discretely, “I have a brother-in-law in charge of this sort of thing in town and a cousin at the bank.” She winked.
Julien unconsciously shifted away from her. “You say they’re very motivated…the current owners. When will we know if they’ve accepted our offer?”
“Your offer has already been accepted.” She grinned. “I am the owner of this home. As I said, providing there’s no problem on your end, I’ve already accepted your offer. I’m quite sure we can make this work…with your substantial down and immaculate credit, we can rush this right through.”
Julien starred at her, his mouth agape, unsure how he felt about this.
Why hadn’t she mentioned that she was the current owner of the home?
He
tried to figure out what her reasoning would be, or if this was even a problem, but he was baffled by her sudden disclosure and didn’t know what to think.
He decided to ask her outright. “Why didn’t you mention that you were the owner before this?”
“I didn’t want it to affect the sale. I wanted you to be honest about what you thought of the home and not feel any additional pressure,” Arlette explained.
Julien still felt somewhat slighted, suspicious, even taken.
Sensing his unease, Arlette patted his shoulder. “Mr. Grenier,” she offered. “Leave the city behind. No one’s out to get you here.” She passed behind him.
The sound of thumping and galloping erupted in the living room. Julien rose from the table just as a rambunctious golden retriever darted toward him. The young dog lurched forward, its surprisingly large mass nearly taking Julien down.
Arlette began screeching wildly. “Down, down, get down!” She tried to grab the oversized puppy, but it broke away from her and darted around the table, huffing and panting gleefully as it headed back out in the direction in which it first appeared.
“Mr. Grenier, I am so sorry….so, so very sorry. Are you hurt?” She brushed at his jeans like a mother taking her child off the playground.
“It’s okay. I’m fine, really.” Julien stepped back, embarrassed by her touch, and brushed himself off.
“That’s Cooper’s dog. He has three of ‘em, but this one doesn’t have the sense of a deer tick. Are you sure you’re alright?”
Julien laughed and Arlette dropped her guard. “I swear I’ll have a word with Cooper—that’s your nearest neighbor by the way, a few acres down the mountain. He needs to pen that beast in once and for all.” She shook her head, still overwhelmed by the uninvited visitor. “I swear I hit that animal with my car one night. Damn thing bounced right back up, running around like a wild banshee—no worse for the wear!”
Julien pointed to the living room. “We must have left the front door open.”
“Well, I better get you folks back to your car.” Arlette moved toward the door. “Give me until Monday afternoon. I’ll check on a few things with your bank then give you a call. After that, you’re welcome to start moving your stuff up, if you’d like…I don’t mind.”
WISHBONE Page 5