I'd been taking care of the grounds of Sheridan Manor ever since I was old enough to pick up a rake and a trowel. My mother, and her mother, and her mother, had all been groundskeepers at the Vermont mansion. My mom died a few years back, shortly after my 30th birthday, and my siblings moved away long before that, so now it was on me to keep things in order. I'd been trying to find a good addition to join the gardening staff since then, but it seemed I was always following behind them, cleaning up, anyways. So I took care of things myself.
"Today's the day, huh? Meeting the new owners. Always exciting."
I startled at the sound of Arlon's voice, nearly jumping out of my skin. He was the house manager who was technically my boss, but he was more like a father to those of us whose families had worked here for ages. Despite his age, he was quieter than a mouse when he snuck up on me in the garden. We worked with a few other on-site staff members year-round; since it was Spring now, my job was the busiest. Turning mulch, pulling weeds, replanting flower beds.
I wiped my dirty hands on my denim overalls and mused, "What do you think they'll be like this time?"
He chuckled. "Foolish, of course."
Since the property had fallen out of the hands of its original owners, families had come and gone through the estate. Some with enough children to actually fill out the eight bedrooms, some older couples with money to spare on summer homes, some young money who just wanted to throw parties and show off.
For now, it was empty, but it had just been picked up by some local real estate developer who had no idea what they were getting into. The original owners had stipulated that all on-site workers had to stay on at a consistent salary, so it had been a difficult sell. Some sucker, I imagined, with far too much hope on their hands and dreams of restoring the place to its "former glory" or whatever they romanticized in their minds.
And the suspicion that I shared with Arlon and the other members of the staff was proven right when it was finally time for us to meet them.
Or, her.
We met her at the front door, standing in a line, a few hours after I wrapped up my morning rounds. I hadn't bothered changing out of my standard "uniform" -- the overalls, a flannel shirt handed down from my older brother, work boots, hair tied back out of my face -- even though Arlon had wanted us in our Sunday best, so to speak. He came from that old money school of thought and usually wore a blazer with elbow patches.
The new owner stepped out of her car, which struck me as a gift-from-daddy situation. Charcoal black, brand-new shiny, a silver thing protruding off the hood. She was petite and blonde, her brown roots slightly grown in, and she wore a navy skirt suit that made her squirm. Underneath the fitted blazer, a slightly frumpy pastel button-down hinted at a figure that the rest of the outfit obscured.
All this together made her my opposite on site. I was tall and muscular, almost never thought of as feminine even when dressed to the nines. I kept my dark hair long, yes, but rarely had it framing my face or twisted into an updo. I hadn't worn heels like hers -- not a wedge, not a stain on them -- in years. I never wore makeup while she had a glossy pink lip like a college girl. I estimated she was nearly ten years my junior, if not the full decade. No way she afforded the estate on her own. Another gift from daddy, I guessed, or one of those "prove yourself as an adult" projects rich people threw at their children.
She went down the line introducing herself, shaking hands with each person and meeting their eyes. Her voice was soft enough that I couldn't hear until she reached me; she must not have realized it was customary for a new owner to address all of us as a group, voice firm, tasks already prepared.
After one look, she avoided eye contact with me as she stretched out her hand. "Sophie Bluth of Bluth Realty. I'm looking forward to getting to know all of you."
Daddy's project all but confirmed.
I got a better look at her face as she avoided looking at mine. I guessed she was a homophobe and had clocked me on site, which wasn't unusual in this wealthy, secluded area. I knew how to keep my head down and stay out of trouble with those types. Uptight, wealthy, a stick firmly planted up their cinched assholes.
Still, she'd be decent eye candy for me if she was wandering around the yards a lot. Her eyebrows were full and neat, probably microbladed and professionally waxed or threaded. Her nose was straight and confident, perhaps "fixed" by a surgeon but maybe just blessed from genetics. Though she was fairly thin, her jawline was soft like a storybook character's. She had round lips, barely any cupid's bow, and perfectly clear skin: No pimples, no moles, not even a freckle. Just smooth cream. Minimal makeup adorned her face -- only that early 2000s glossy lip and some light mascara. Knowing that she reveled in her own glow made her seem even younger to me.
I pulled my eyes off of her as our handshake went on far too long. I stammered, "Roslyn Tanner. Gardner. And whatever else is needed. I stay over in the guest house, across the southern alley, so you'll see me around more frequently than some of the others."
Sophie swallowed, still staring squarely at her feet. "Good to know."
She took a step back and said, "This summer, I want to work closely with all of you to return the house to its former glory and find the perfect family who can make it their forever home."
An inadvertent chuckle escaped my throat, but Arlon covered it by clearing his throat, always concerned at what he described as my "crass, uncaring way."
She heard it, though, and she cleared her own throat in embarrassment. "I'll meet with all of you individually this week to get a sense for how things are managed here, and then we'll start bringing in contractors the week after that to start work!" She offered up an unsure, insecure smile that tried to project confidence but failed so adorably." It's going to be an amazing few months if we can all work as a team.."
A few awkward seconds passed.
Nancy, the ancient housekeeper, muttered, "You're supposed to dismiss us, miss."
"Right, shit, of course-- crap, sorry. Um. Yeah, you can go. Thank you."
I laughed again, this time more obviously, and headed back down the driveway toward my shed.
-
Despite the new "owner," my work life didn't change much. Every day, Sophie Bluth of Bluth Realty pulled in a different staff member, kept them in one of the office suites for hours, and then emerged with them at the end of work hours. They all seemed to like her well enough, assuring me that she was nothing to worry about and gentle as a lamb.
She would eat her meals with someone on staff but scurry out of the kitchen when I came in for a drink. She strolled around sniffing flowers in the backyard until I appeared to trim a hedge; then, she'd check her watch and huff off as if she had something important to do. Each time, I just rolled my eyes and moved on. Scarier people than her had come and gone and they'd never outlasted me.
There were only five of us on permanent staff, so, by the time Friday came, I expected that it was my turn for our little one-on-one. Lunchtime came and went. She talked with Arlon about something across the lawn while I ate my salad in the greenhouse, surrounded by my saplings. The afternoon passed; she showed off a blueprint to a contractor and gestured grandly at different parts of the manor.
At four p.m., I began locking away my tools for the night; I was finishing early that weekend since I was supposed to drive up to visit my brother in the morning.
Arlon caught my arm as I walked around the back of the estate, toward my guest house, to settle in for the evening. "Ros, why don't you get cleaned up and try to talk with Ms. Bluth? I think if you just made an effort she'd be responsive."
