Not without a huge sigh (part uncertainty and part regret), I disembarked from my car and just stood, looking. The house was surrounded by trees on both sides, in addition to the long lane I had just trekked. But some wild daisies sprinkled amidst the long grasses lent me comfort. A meadow of what appeared to be weeds of different sorts was visible if I leaned to peer around the side of the building, which I did. Weeds. How apt.

The house, itself, well, not really a house – I don’t know what to call it; was more than a shed, less than a respectable cabin – was fronted with a sagging porch with four steps ascending. I took the challenge, and, as I did, heard some scurrying underneath. I had company without even sending housewarming invitations! Lovely.

I fished the key from my pocket and unlocked the front door. It was sturdy! I took the win and stepped inside. Remarkably enough, it was furnished with decent furniture, clearly from past generations.

I blew dust from a side table holding a lamp and the lamp wobbled until I grabbed it. It seemed a nice piece, perhaps even valuable in its day. I would hate to be the owner that broke it. Then I wondered how many owners there had been: if I was the second after an original or near the end of a long line of proprietors. I wandered through the rooms: a living room, kitchen, bedroom, and even a small bathroom (I was pleasantly surprised, though held no certainty that it worked). Beyond the kitchen, to the back of the house, was a sleeping porch, complete with a swinging bed held to the rafters by sturdy chains. My eyes scanned the mattress full of acorns.

Dusk was creeping over the yard by the time I brought in my belongings. There had been more to explore than at first glance. For one thing, there was a root cellar. I know! I saved my examination of it for daylight when I could clear the spiderwebs  with greater assurance of seeing whether the spiders were elsewhere.

In my inspection of the bedroom, I had literally stumbled into what sounded like a hollow place in the wall near the head of the bed. I scraped the bed across the floor in order to get a closer look. With a little effort, I broke through the false part and found a compartment which held my interest as well as, it appeared, things from a past owner.

I pulled out my sturdy flashlight and spent my evening reading the papers I had found. By the time my eyes were gritty with sleep, I knew my new house was not the tumbledown shack it appeared to be.

to be continued . . .

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