The sun was shining brightly when Brenna pulled into the steaming gravel driveway. It had rained heavily that morning, but now the clouds were scudding to the east as raindrops glistened on the grass and the cascading pink roses. Spring had arrived in the little seaside town as Brenna brought the first load of her possessions to her new home. She had traded her prized green Miata in on a blue Blazer after buying the house. Molly swung in behind her in a borrowed van holding the rest of Brenna’s worldly goods. The previous owner had left her furnishings behind as she had no other family to take them. Brenna had taken this opportunity to rid herself of meaningless things collected through the years and had brought only her most important belongings.
They climbed out of their respective vehicles and stretched.
“Well, Molls, what do you think?” Brenna grinned.
Molly held her tongue for a moment, deep in diplomatic thought.
“Ah...it does have a certain ambience...while appearing to require some extensive repair, do you think?”
“Come on, look at the bright side! The gutter’s falling off and I have to paint the trim, but look at the rhododendrons and roses. The rhododendrons are huge, they have to be pretty old. Wait until you see the antiques she left. Let’s go, it's easier to go in the back door because of the roses in front.”
Molly followed, shaking her head.
Brenna pulled a new brass key out of her jeans pocket and inserted it in the shiny deadbolt. She had already replaced this door after scouring antique salvage shops in south Portland and had painted the scarred wood a bright white.
They passed through the tiny kitchen into the dining room, occupied by an oval mahogany table and its four chairs. The towering purple and scarlet rhododendrons nearly obscured the view through a small bay window near the table.
Brenna opened the darkly varnished sliding doors into the front parlor and Molly could see the front door straight ahead, the roses a natural curtain over its window. There were a couch and chair covered in burgundy velvet, trimmed in mahogany and layered with dust. A small dark table sat next to the chair. A steep, narrow staircase ascended the south wall and a fading flowered rug covered the floorboards, threadbare from use and time. But Brenna’s favorite thing was an old rocking chair, set in front of the river rock fireplace. Its old wooden frame was the perfect size for her.
“Not bad,” Molly sneezed. "Could use a good vacuum, though.”
“Come on, I’ll show you the upstairs.” Brenna headed for the staircase. Molly eyed it with some trepidation.
“Oh, come on, it’s stable. I’ve been up and down it several times.”
They climbed the narrow stairs, making a sharp left at the top. Straight ahead was a small hallway dividing the second floor. A stained glass window was at the far end, a pane of rippling clear glass surrounded by squares of blue and green.
Brenna opened the door to the guest room first. It overlooked the backyard, most of which was obscured by overgrown flowering bushes and underbrush.
“See way in the back? It looks as if there’s part of a fence back there. I’m wondering if there’s a separate garden. I have a lot of yard work to do before I get there though.”
The room itself had been painted a pale yellow, more pale now with the passage of time. It held a four-poster bed frame with a matching nightstand and an old hurricane lamp. In the corner was a cherrywood cradle that swung noiselessly on its wooden supports when pushed. It was in perfect condition.
“Isn’t this gorgeous? I don’t know why it’s here. I'm thinking maybe they were unable to have children. Come look at this."
They crossed the hall and Brenna opened the door. "I found this hanging in the other room over the cradle."
Molly studied the old embroidered sampler in its simple wood frame and read it aloud.
" 'It is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make Man better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night-
It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.' "
Molly paused with tears in her eyes. "Oh, Bren. You must be right. This is beautiful. It describes the importance of lost babies in just a few lines."
Brenna put her arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the front windows. "Now, view something to make you smile."
Molly looked through the old glass to see the far waves of the Pacific rolling in gently now that the rain had passed. "You can see the ocean from here! This is great, Bren."
This room also held an old bed frame with a waterfall headboard in excellent condition. Against the far wall was a matching dressing table with a huge round mirror.
“Why on earth did this lady leave all this stuff here? Was she senile or something?” asked Molly, mystified, looking around the room.
“At this point, your guess is as good as mine. Her name’s Helena Montgomery and I hope to meet her and ask some questions about this place. We’ll see.”
They went back out to the hallway and Brenna showed Molly the pull-down ladder to the small attic space above.
“I haven’t even gone up there yet. I think I’m afraid to. Small dark spaces were never my strong point.”
Finished with the tour, they went down to lunch before tackling the unloading.
At the end of the day, exhausted and grimy, they retired to the parlor; Brenna to her rocker with a pillow and Molly to the well-vacuumed couch. They had been working so industriously they hadn’t noticed, but now it became apparent. The only noise they could hear were a few birds and their own breathing. After years of city living, it was an odd thing. The silence was almost tangible.
“Are you sure you’re going to like it out here, Bren? We’ve lived in the city for so long,” Molly asked quietly.
Brenna smiled.
“That’s a big part of it, Molls. I need a break from the constant noise and activity. This silence is so peaceful; it’s like a blessing, a gift of some kind, a reminder there are other ways to live.”
The sun had barely set when they started a fire and unrolled sleeping bags on the rug. Crawling into their makeshift beds, they slept soundly.