Page 38 - the NOISE April 2014

“It’s perfect,” Helen Dunham opened her arms embracing the elegant room. “I think there are more people coming to look at the house today. I hear people talking,” he
“Are you sure, darling? We’ve looked at so many houses and you’ve found something wrong with all of them. Are you sure this is the house you want?” Bill Dunham quizzed his wife of thirty years carefully. Her snap decision baffled him. They had only seen two rooms. He cast a wary glance at the realtor. Sylvia March was hesitant to show them this particular property until Helen had insisted. He thought the realtor’s reticence was due to Helen’s harsh critiques of the previous twenty homes she had shown them until he stepped inside 417 Clark Street. The house was magnificent.
Can’t imagine why she thought we wouldn’t like this, he mused.
“This home has been vacant for more than a year,”Sylvia said shifting from one foot to another.
“The Struthers family has owned it since it was built in 1913. All the furnishings are original and they are part of the deal.” The realtor spoke with an air of familiarity. “There have been few repairs and no updates.”
“Why are they selling it now?” Helen asked.
“The heirs to this estate are all deceased.” Sylvia cleared her throat. “By law, I am obliged to tell you the history of this house.” She fidgeted with buttons on her jacket.
Helen waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter. The house is perfect.”
“Would you like to see the rest of it?” Sylvia continued.
“Yes,” Bill answered.
“No, I’ve seen enough. Let’s buy it, Bill,” Helen said. There was an urgent tone in her voice. “Good, I’ll just get the paperwork out of my car,” Sylvia hurriedly left the room.
Bill was flabbergasted. His wife’s hasty decision was totally out of character. “Helen, are you sure you want to do this? I mean think of all the work that needs to be done. Sylvia said there have been few if any repairs done in one hundred years. This could be the ultimate money pit.”
Helen turned in a full circle before coming to a complete halt in front of her husband. She looked him over from head to toe. He was still handsome at age sixty-five. Other than a head of gray hair and some facial wrinkles, he was the same six foot two hunk she married right out of college. She put her hand on his cheek. “Did I ever tell you what beautiful blue eyes you have?”
“Okay, I get it. You really want this house,” He put his hand on hers. “I’ve never been able to say no to you.”
The sound of the front door opening interrupted their conversation. The realtor came around the corner into the living room carrying a briefcase and holding a manila folder. “Okay, let’s sit over here,” she said pointing to a long couch in the corner of the room.
Helen gave Bill’s hand a squeeze. “Sure.”
“What kind of offer did you have in mind?” Sylvia asked once they were seated. “We will pay the asking price in full,” Helen said without looking at her husband. “Mrs. Dunham,” Sylvia gasped with joy.
“Helen?” Bill gasped as well, but his sentiments were less than joyful.
Helen became instantly irritated. “Why not? We have plenty of money. What else are we go- ing to do with it?” She snapped.
Bill stared at his wife in dismay. Something was wrong. Helen never paid full price for any- thing. “Darling, don’t you think we should wait for an inspection. After all ...”
Helen grabbed the pen out of the realtor’s hand. She signed each page with a ferocity Bill had never seen before. When she was done, she thrust the pen into his hand. “Sign!” She de- manded.
A rare fight between them might have ensued at this point, but something in his wife’s atti- tude stopped him. He had never seen her so adamant. He sighed with exasperation, shot Helen a disgusted look then signed. As he was handing the pen back to the realtor, he heard voices in the distance.
38 • APRIL 2014 • the NOISE arts & news • thenoise.us
said turning his head towards the doorway.
Sylvia March stopped packing her briefcase. Her shoulders visibly slumped. She met Bill’s
eyes with a defeated look. “I should have mentioned this before you signed.” She waved her hand in the air. Bill thought she might cry.
“There is a reason this house has been on the market for so long.”She looked down at the floor. “Some say it’s haunted.”
“It is,” said Helen with conviction.
“What?” Bill’s shocked look didn’t faze his wife.
“And all this furniture really comes with the house?” Helen asked, ignoring her husband. Ne-
gotiations were over.
It was more than a week before the Dunhams moved into the house at 417 Clark Street. In that time, Bill and Helen avoided each other as much as possible. Neither wanted an argument. When the day arrived to take possession, they entered the house separately after the movers were done. Bill went first.
The house at 417 Clark Street was situated on a hilltop overlooking an acre of emerald green grass. An old cobble stone brook formed the back boundary of the property. Stately trees and an expansive patch of Lilly of the Valley covered the hillside from the house to the lawn. Aged brown shingles provided a stark background for the multiple white-trimmed windows and the green oversized front door. Bill unbolted the door and stepped into a large foyer. Moving boxes cluttered the floor in front of him.
A small path was visible between the boxes and a red carriage seat from an old horse buggy against the wall. A gilded mirror hung next to a coat rack. Two steps up led to the large hallway. Bill remembered that the living room was down the hall to the left. Underneath four large win- dows, facing the front yard was a long cushioned seat. Bill imagined Helen sitting by the win- dows sipping coffee. A door directly in front of him next to the window seat stood slightly ajar. Curious, Bill pulled it open. It was a closet filled with musty smelling old coats, scarves and hats.
“Nobody’s touched this in a while,” he said out loud. He was about to close the door when a brown wool jacket caught his eye.
Wow, he thought as he pushed the other coats to the side. The military jacket was well pre- served, almost to the point of being pristine. Bill was astounded at its condition. He studied its bright brass buttons.
“Definitely WWI,” he said. He fingered the numerous medals pinned on its front. “This should be in a museum.”
Helen came in the front door carrying one of their many suitcases. “Isn’t it great?” she gushed.
Bill shut the closet door.
“I can’t believe it,” Bill said.
“Believe what, Dear?”
“There’s a WWI coat in here. It looks almost new. How is that possible?” Bill was dumbfounded. “Isn’t it great?” Helen gushed again completely ignoring his statement. “Let me show you the
red room.”
“But ...” Bill spluttered pointing at the closet.
“Come on, come on,” Helen waved her hand for Bill to take it. He did so reluctantly.
Helen led him through the living room to a set of white-framed double glass doors. With great fanfare, she pulled them open.
“Isn’t this magnificent?” Helen clapped her hands together. “Look, Bill, red Oriental rugs, red velvet walls. Look at this mirror. Have you ever seen anything like it?” Helen stood in front of a huge gilded mirror that filled one entire wall. An antique scroll music player, several chairs and
SHORTSTORY