House Wrecking Read online

  HOUSE WRECKING

  Meredith Kazer

  © 2016

  http://www.meredithkazer.com/

  __________________

  BOY STILL MISSING

  One week after hurricane cripples

  New Haven, boy remains unfound

  The Journal Courier—July 30, 1904

  Thomas Marvin, age 14, remains the sole unaccounted New Haven resident following last week’s devastating hurricane. Thomas was in attendance at the Westville School the morning of the hurricane, but was discovered missing when students emerged from a basement shelter. Teachers speculate that Thomas, a boy who kept to himself, may have wandered off during the school’s hasty evacuation to shelter. Thomas’s family remains hopeful that he will return home safely.

  Open House

  Lauren glanced at her watch for what seemed like the tenth time in as many minutes. She flexed the calves of her legs, admiring how toned they’d become, and scooped her brown curls in one hand. Twisting her face toward the sun, she let the heat beat down on her. After months of gray skies and cold settling into her bones, she couldn’t get enough of it.

  The neighborhood streets teemed with young families walking dogs and children in strollers- visibly pleased to have survived the long New Haven winter, the worst in recent history. The hum of a recently resurrected lawn mower resounded in the distance. At least her kids were playing peacefully on the neglected lawn of the house. She’d hoped to leave Claire and Brian home with Jeff while she toured the house. Not surprisingly, he was too busy with work.

  She scanned the house, taking in the disintegrating columns. Paint peeled profusely and many of the windows were cracked and broken. A wooden placard next to the door read, Charles & Sarah Marvin House c. 1890. She walked around the spacious porch peering through the cracked windows. Why was she here? They owned a perfectly pleasant center-hall colonial right around the corner. She needed this house like… Well, she didn’t need this house. She’d give the real estate agent five more minutes. But as she made this agreement with herself, she knew she’d wait hours to get inside.

  Even through its deterioration, she’d been admiring this house for years. When she saw the open house ad in the paper this morning, and the price, she couldn’t not come and see it. She knew it would be a lot of work, but she and Jeff needed a project to bring them back together. No, the whole idea was ridiculous. She would look at it for fun and forget it.

  The real estate agent pulled up and sprinted out of her car. “I’m so sorry.” She blurted. “I had another open house and the visitors wouldn’t leave. I’m Carol. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

  Lauren plastered on a fake smile, “Of course not – I know how these things go.”

  Once inside, all thoughts of looking and leaving escaped as Lauren took in the historical grandeur of the home. Period wallpaper decorated the foyer, peeling at the seams. She could make out the faded outline of figures in nineteenth-century dress beneath the dusty but beautiful entry chandelier. An oak staircase stood in the back of the foyer. Crown moldings and natural woodwork filled the front rooms and floor-to-ceiling columns separated the front room from the formal dining room toward the back of the house. A small outdated kitchen and half bath appeared hastily added in the rear corner.

  Lauren soaked in the beauty of the house while the kids raced up and down the stairs. Carol prattled on. “It was built in 1890 by Charles Marvin, a grocer from Colebrook who built it for his new wife Sarah. Their daughter Emily and only heir died several years ago. There was an older son too – Thomas Marvin. But he’d been missing a long time and presumed dead. Anyway, the house stood vacant while the probate court figured out what to do with it. Unfortunately, the woman was quite elderly when she died and didn’t keep it up very well. Vacancy never does a house much good in my experience either. It fell to the city on a tax lien. Poor thing didn’t have anything left when she died, except this old place.”

  Carol bustled Lauren and the children around the first floor, which had been transformed into an apartment in the early part of the twentieth century. The walls had been whitewashed, but when Lauren opened the small pantry, her eyes caught two sets of height markings penciled on the woodwork– one set taller than her, and the other around Brian’s height. She peered closer to read the faded names, but, Carol drew her away, by pointing out the door to the basement “It’s kind of dingy down there – you don’t want to see it, do you?” she asked. The kids were getting antsy, so Lauren took the cue and they headed upstairs to see the bedrooms.

  There were only four over-sized rooms and a kitchen on the second floor. The two bedrooms and living and dining rooms featured the same crown moldings, and the bathroom had a bright yellow tile – popular in the fifties and sixties. Carol gestured to a door at the end of the hall. “The servant’s quarters were on the third floor. There are a bunch of rooms upstairs and a bath too, but the rooms are not as fancy as these.”

  “Beautiful!” Lauren murmured as she dragged the bored children from room to room. Each room seemed to have a retaining force calling to her. She marveled at the architecture, chosen with such care, giving rise to momentary embarrassment at her own plain home. In her house, she’d turn in all directions and find little of interest. There was nothing wrong with it, but she often felt restless within, as if she weren’t welcome. In this house, every empty room, chipped molding, or missing balustrade seemed to offer a purpose. Here, she felt at home.

  She wanted to dawdle in each room and examine each specific purpose of its design. She envisioned the lives lived within these walls and evoked images of finely dressed women gathered in front of the tower windows. Mentally arranging her furniture and hanging her draperies, Lauren saw beyond the lingering whiff of mildew and ceiling stains to what it had been and to what it could be again, . While the house had obviously been stripped by an industrial cleaning company, Lauren smiled when her eye caught on what appeared to be a dried cat turd under a radiator in the living room.

  “So what do you think? Carol asked.

  “I love it.” Lauren said as she absently played with the soft spot on her ring finger. “Let me talk to my husband and I’ll be in touch.”

  Carol smiled and handed her a packet of information and a business card. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

  A Century Earlier

  Deep spring swept most of the birds back to Colebrook, Connecticut, including an annoying Woodpecker that’d been waking Sarah for weeks. From her new brass bed with the porcelain accents, she imagined that looking the bastard bird in the eye would take care of him once and for all. The woodpecker continued his relentless tapping between the two tall windows at the front of her bedchamber until she rearranged herself at the edge of the bed, shivering away the familiar smell rising from between her legs. No matter how fast she got there, the woodpecker was always gone before she could stare him down.

  She dressed quickly to meet Kate and Abby although there was no hurry – they would wait for her. She assumed natural leadership of her elite clique at school. Since she’d taken an early interest in Charles Marvin, he too was included in that group, though he rarely joined the banter and certainly didn’t dress as well as the others. For trendy fashion and fanciness in attire (Charles’s stained shirts made his disregard obvious), Sarah beat them all, bustier to patent leather buttoned shoes.

  On this fine day after school, Sarah was pleased at Charles’s idea to raid his aunt’s store for the cookies or pies she baked every day. They descended on the store all at once, only to find Charles’s Aunt Rosemary napping with no baked goods in sight. Though Charles flushed purple at his Aunt’s messy hair and reddened eyes, the old woman didn’t seem embarrassed. Typical shopkeeper, thought Sarah, patti
ng her perfect plaits. She smiled coolly at the woman in the manner she’d learned from witnessing her father Peter handle merchants and servants, and said, “We’re having a picnic. Charles promised us free cake and a pie.”

  Her best friend Kate laughed aloud and said, “Indeed, he did!” and the whole group giggled.

  Charles startled eyes opened wide. “Aunt— I— I—”

  Sarah smiled, pleased with how this simple exaggeration proved her command over him.

  “Out you go—the lot of you,” Aunt Rosemary barked with a pointed frown at Sarah, but she sent them off with fresh-picked berries.

  They spread a blanket on a grassy rise beside the farmhouse pond, and Sarah rearranged herself to kneel until she was sure she’d caught Charles’s eye. She sighed, gave a dramatic pause to capture everyone’s attention, and declared, “You will all miss me at school tomorrow.” She gazed over their shoulders toward the pond, waiting for their cries of dismay, their demands for an explanation.

  Charles stretched across the edge of the blanket. His brow curled as if doing a math problem. He was often tongue-tied around her, which she usually enjoyed, but now she wanted him to be awed. Sarah poked Kate with the toe of her boot. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Oh, sorry—you know my mind is already at Oberlin.” Kate managed to insert “Oberlin” into every conversation. “Are you going somewhere, doing something special?” She picked a dandelion seed head and blew on it, freeing the pips to waft on the spring breeze.

  “New York!” Sarah clapped her hands like a little girl. “Perhaps we will see a show, or visit those stylish new dress shops.” That statement got a better result, and all but Charles uttered exclamations of surprise and jealousy. Basking in the attention, Sarah noted that he seemed to have shrunken, his lips pressed tight as if words were stuck in them.

  Soon the boys – Albert and Tim - started horsing around on the lawn, and Kate turned to tease them. Sarah was left with awkward Charles and mousey boring Abby to talk about the trip. Even with this paltry audience, she gave a dreamy sigh. “Oh yes—New York! The center of American commercial enterprise, the unparalleled hub of industry and fashion,” she said, repeating something she’d read in a newspaper advertisement.

  “My goodness! Lucky you,” said Abby.

  Long silence.

  Then, from Charles, his voice cracking, “Edward Gay— he lives in New York.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “He’s an artist I like.”

  “Where in New York? Father can take me to see his paintings.”

  “Umm, Albany, I think.”

  “Albany? Why Charles, that’s not even close to New York City.” She laughed, too loud.

  Kate and the two boys, oblivious to the conversation, were tugging blades of grass between their thumbs to blow, trying to out-whistle each other. Sarah called out, “Kate wins! She’s got the fattest thumbs.” There. That punished Kate for abandoning her to Charles’s feeble response about her trip.

  A tiny, much delayed, “Oh,” came from Charles, and she rolled her eyes. But knowing he was smitten with her, she released her hair from its braids and the chestnut locks flowed down her back. She could smell the rich French soap she used to wash her hair, and she envisioned it carried on the light breeze toward Charles, who would breathe it in deeply, his eyes always on her for a delicious instant too long.

  Sarah straightened her legs and Charles attention immediately returned to the girl in front of him. He’d come to Colebrook three years earlier to live with his Aunt Rosemary after his mother died and his father neglected him to the point that the state had to step in. Since his arrival, he’d taken pains to differentiate himself from the other boys in Sarah Prescott’s eyes – trying any manner of personae to impress her. At first he was the soulful artist, taking out his sketchbook during their school breaks. She had asked him a few times what he was drawing and he had shown her. But, after a mere glance at a sketch or two, she handed him back his book without further comment. He had tried on the fun-and-games boy, suggesting they play blind man’s bluff or kick-the-can, games he’d learned back in New Haven. Over time, Sarah came to depend on him to entertain her through the long days at school and the hours afterward.

  Now at seventeen they had tired of games, and each other. Sarah could see the group’s barely concealed resentment as Kate worked Oberlin into every conversation, as if anyone knew what it was. Charles assumed an air of silence recently, perhaps in hope that this might attract her to him once again. It didn’t work. Charles nodded tentatively toward the small rowboat perched at the edge of the pond, “Anyone want to go out on the boat?” No one did. They lay on the blanket for another few minutes before Kate remembered she had a letter to write. Abby had to help her mother with the wash and Tim and Albert left to steal some cigarettes from Tim’s father. With nothing left to talk about or do, Sarah followed Kate and Abby, and Charles wandered back to the farmhouse.

  Getting to Yes

  When Lauren returned home she couldn’t get her mind off the possibilities of the house. She played a game of kickball with Claire and Brian, until she wore them out and settled them in front of the television with a video. The children were momentarily occupied and she basked in her dreams of the Queen Anne – painted ladies they used to call them. She regarded the entertainment unit and considered if it fit into the open space on the third floor - could they get it up the narrow stairs? She set the table for dinner and wondered if her china pattern would work in the Queen Anne dining room. Never mind. She could paint or paper it how she liked. She could research period paper and restore it to its original pattern.

  After she put Claire and Brian to bed and she and Jeff were alone, she took down two wine glasses from the open stainless shelves in their kitchen. “I’m going to have a glass of wine. Do you want one?” she asked.

  Jeff raised an eyebrow and Lauren instantly regretted her approach to this conversation. By suggesting wine, Lauren feared that she’d mistakenly led Jeff to believe she wanted sex, which was the last thing on her mind now and always. She tried to think of the something unsexy to change the mood.

  “Your mother called today.”

  “Yeah – she called the office too,” Jeff said.

  “Oh I went to see that house today. Remember the one I saw in the paper?”

  “How was it? Jeff said, turning his attention back to the newspaper on his lap.

  “It’s so beautiful; I can’t wait for you to see it.

  “Why would I want to see it?” Jeff didn’t take his eyes off the paper.

  “I think it’d be perfect for us. It has character and charm and I thought that maybe you could move your office into the first floor and we could live on the second and third. It’s big and the third floor servant’s quarters could be converted to bedrooms. You could see your clients in your home office and spend much more time with the kids -- and me.” She poured the two glasses of wine and beckoned Jeff to follow her into the bedroom where she had left the paperwork on the house. Jeff let out a deep sign, exchanged his newspaper for the glass and followed Lauren.

  “Lauren – we have a great house right here. I don’t want to move my home or my office.”

  She pushed the information sheets into Jeff’s hands, sinking down next to him on the bed, their thighs touching. The room grew silent as he read and shuffled the papers.

  “The house is a steal and you wouldn’t have to pay rent for your office. We can work on it together and take our time,” she tried again.

  “So, you’re saying that this house is big enough for both the office and for us to live and they only want two hundred and seventy thousand for it? What’s the catch?” Jeff said, putting the wine glass on the bedside table and folding his hands in front of him.

  “It needs a lot of work, but we can do it together and with the money we’ll save, we’ll have fewer worries. Look here – it has so much room.” Lauren said, moving closer and gesturing to a spot on the information sheet.
r />   Jeff looked to where she pointed, but didn’t unfold his hands.

  “It will save us a bundle of money each month.”

  Jeff nodded with slightly more interest. “How much?”

  “If we sell our house for $225,000 that gives us $75,000 in equity to put on this new house. If we can get them down a little, we’ll be paying less than we are now. Plus, if you move your office to the new house you’ll have that money in your pocket too, Lauren said as she scribbled numbers on the information sheet.

  Jeff looked at the numbers. “I guess I could look at it, but no promises.”

  Lauren wrapped her arms around him and pushed him flat on his back. She climbed on top, smiling at this victory and kissed him five times on his face. Then she did what she needed to seal the deal.

  Afterwards, when Jeff’s breathing grew steady with sleep, Lauren clicked off the television in their bedroom and went downstairs. She poured herself another substantial glass of Chablis from the box in the refrigerator and settled on the sofa in the den. Before tonight, Lauren couldn’t remember when they’d last had sex, which was fine with her. Jeff would do it every night if she were willing and avoiding it was exhausting. She had a long list of excuses - tired, kids, her period, work. When they did it, she kept her eyes were shut tight and hoped he’d finished quickly and roll off her. A wave of apprehension passed through her. Its source, repressed for years, simmered and spread.

  Soon the wine dulled the jagged edges of the sex and she focused again on the house. Maybe it was a stupid idea like Jeff said and she should stop trying to get them to move. Her life was fine the way it was – why was she always searching for something new and different?

  But the house was so extraordinary with its tower and woodwork and the office argument was a good one. Jeff had agreed that running an office was expensive for a clinical psychologist whose salary was limited by healthcare reforms that restricted payment for mental health services. The thought of not paying rent was appealing since they struggled to pay the office rent and cover the house mortgage, their student loans and other expenses. The mortgage rose annually with rising interest rates and taxes, and Brian and Claire were in private school. Lauren only worked part-time as a nurse practitioner and money worries often kept her up at night.