This is another snip of the WIP I’m calling Special Delivery for now.
***
John drove slowly up the winding drive, peering ahead of them with more than strictly necessary attention. The road wasn’t paved, but the center greenery had been neatly cut down, and recently, too. He steered around a puddle with a frown.
“Have to get a load of gravel in there, soon.”
“Before the moving truck comes.” Bonnie was also leaning forward in her seat, as though by getting close to the glass she could see better. The rain had stopped, and the sun wasn’t out, but it was much lighter than it had been while they drove up the hill that had stood between them and their new home.
“Home!” She murmured to herself, enjoying the sound of it. “We’re going home.”
“There it is.” John stopped the car, and pointed. “Your first look!”
Through the trees, she could see the warm red of brick. “It’s a brick house!”
“Partly. The oldest home here was built of brick. Later additions were wood framed, and usually painted white. The barn is stone, though.”
“So many things,” she stared through the windshield at the bit of wall she could see. “So much history. I feel a bit like an intruder.”
“So do I,” he admitted in a low voice. “With Uncle Ted gone… I never thought I’d live here. But who else was there?”
She reached over and put a hand on his knee, and adopting a pretentious tone, commanded, “Drive on, man! Drive on.”
He laughed, the mood dissipated, and let his foot off the gas.
The road curled around like a lazy river, and brought them into the farmyard before they reached the house. The barn, broad and solid, bulked up on one side to allow for haywains to be driven straight in, before tractors were common, loomed over it all. Bonnie looked around. “It’s beautiful!”
John looked, too, and saw things she didn’t know to look for. “No stock here right now. I wonder who’s been working the farm? Someone’s come in and cut down the weeds, but I don’t like that little tree up there.” He pointed, and she saw it, growing out of a chink in the stones high above the big doors, which were closed. “I guess Uncle Ted wasn’t able to take care of everything… Wish I’d been here to help him out when he was failing.”
“You can’t be everywhere.” His practical bride pointed out. “We can start a list of what must be done.” She reached into her purse, which sat at her feet, and pulled out a notebook with a flourish. “Tree removal. Well. Itty-bitty tree removal. Gravel for the drive,” She looked up, pen poised. “What else?”
“You darling.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “Let’s not, tonight. We’ll start discouraged. Tomorrow we can make lists.”
“Tonight, we get to see whether we sleep in a bed.” She laid the little book on her lap. “Or in the cots I packed.”
“Supposed to be everything Ted left, in the house.” He put the car back in drive and followed the road around the last curve, which swung wide of the barn and the fenced in chicken coop. “That run is just choked with weeds!” He almost stopped again.
“Not tonight, dear.” She pointed. “Look! There it is!”
The house was a long, low ramble of a place. When he’d mentioned additions, she had expected something, perhaps the classic lean-to kitchen from updating to indoor plumbing, and maybe a room or three for the growing family, the traditional constructions she’d seen many times. This was different.
“Oh, John! Someone really thought about what they were building here!”
He pulled into the circular drive that looped around a tree footed with a riot of flowers. Then he stopped the engine, looking up at the front porch, with the dark wood door flanked by big many-paned windows. “Yes, they did. The Taverners knew what they wanted, and they got it, by golly!” He took her hand as he spoke. “Let me come open your door.”
She waited, while he came around for her. She wasn’t used to this, but knew it was important to him, and it was becoming so to her, as well. He was going to spoil her. She looked up at him with a laugh on her lips as he swung her door open. “I’m going to become so pampered!”
“You should be! But the life of a farm wife isn’t easy, so I mean to make little parts of your day as good as I can.” He took her hand and lifted her out, as she met him halfway.
***
This week, AC Young prompted me with “A red-brick building appeared through the trees.” I knew exactly what I’d write, when I saw that.
I prompted AC Young in return with “Just below Doan’s Crossing…”
You can read all of the prompt responses, and join in on the fun yourself, over at More Odds Than Ends.