Hillary was alone in the new house. Jenna was at a teacher's conference, and Uncle Jefferson was on a book tour, promoting his new thriller "I Spy a Wild Guy".
She sat at the table in the kitchen and took stock. They had moved in only a week ago. Furniture had been placed in six of the rooms. One room on the second floor and the entire third floor would remain empty for the moment. Critical boxes had been unpacked, but many more remained unopened.
The kitchen and breakfast nook had been completely set up the first day at Jefferson's insistence. He was the main cook, breadwinner, and rule maker, so he got what he wanted.
Hillary chuckled to herself, "I can't cook, but even I wanted the kitchen set up. I do like to eat."
The woman took a sip of coffee and ate a bite of peanut butter toast.
Getting the dozens of other boxes unpacked was actually the least of the work that needed to be done. The wallpaper had to be stripped, rooms painted, the exterior cleaned, and the yard brought under control.
When Hillary had seen the house, she fell in love with it. The others weren't as thrilled. From the outside, the house was dark, brooding, almost menacing. It was the type of house you might find in a Jane Austin or Emily Bronte novel, standing alone on a Scottish moor occupied by a reclusive woman with a tragic tale of abandonment and loss.
That isn't what Hillary saw. She saw a castle with fair maidens in brightly colored gowns, knights fending off dragons, fancy balls, and secret rendezvous' by young lovers.
It appealed to Hillary's overly active imagination and her sense of adventure.
Convincing the others wasn't as hard as Hillary expected. Uncle Jefferson, who would have to pay for the house, saw a bargain. Unoccupied for several years, the heirs of the former owner were being threatened with big fines if they didn't start cleaning up the place. They were ready to dump it on the first sucker (oops, I mean buyer) who made a halfway decent offer.
Aside from the bargain price, Jefferson could have a quiet office to write in and space to entertain his numerous friends and business associates. Being off the beaten path would also limit the number of crazy fans who appeared uninvited at the front door.
Jenna was the one who needed the most convincing. Best friends since elementary school, Jenna was the pragmatic one who tried to limit the 'crazy' in Hillary's crazy ideas, sometimes successfully, sometimes not.
What she saw in the old place was a lot of work. Work that had to be done while she was starting a new job and Jefferson would be on a long book tour. Hillary would promise to help, but holding her to the promise was another matter.
On the plus side, Jenna's new job was at a local private school. Living at the house would cut her commute to almost zero. With a big house, she could set aside a room or two for after school tutoring of students who were struggling.
Jenna also thought a big house might help with Hillary's flights of fancy. Not eliminate them, but at least keep them contained. She agreed to the purchase but only after making Hillary triple pinky swear to work hard.
"I love you house," Hillary said aloud. "We'll make you a happy place again."
The family decided to begin on the outside. One could live with outdated wallpaper, but the depressing gloom cast by the house had to go. The lingering threat of fines made the decision even easier.
Jenna removed some moss and dirt by hand to find the actual stone was a rose color. She rented a professional pressure washing machine and blasted 90 years of accumulated gunk from the first floor walls. Professionals were hired to do the top two floors.
Heavy drapes were removed. Jefferson cut down the trees blocking the windows, brightening the inside considerably. He dragged the debris to a compost pile near the back fence using a small tractor. With a mower attachment, he attacked the acres of overgrown weeds.
Hillary worked on landscaping. She had a vision for what the outside should be like -- a country Squire's home. Ornate planters would flank the door, filled with brightly colored annuals. Heritage roses, planted near each corner of the house, would blossom all year. Heather would border the walkway. The overgrown hedges surrounding the yard would be trimmed.
The battered black mailbox was replaced with one that was the same shade of rose as the house. A local artist painted butterflies on the sides. Underneath a sign hung, immodestly but truthfully declaring it "The Big House".
Hillary slipped on a dress. She had been naked, as always. Hanging in the foyer and by the back door were dresses that were easy to slip on when visitors called.
Today, she was taking on the hedges surrounding the house. They had been untended for years, growing tall and thick with branches sprouting wildly in all directions. Hillary was determined to return them to the clean straight lines of formal English gardens.
With her own way of doing things, she began with the hedges facing the kitchen window rather than starting at one end or the other. Those were the hedges she looked at the most, so those would be the ones she trimmed first. She had barely begun when she realized there was a brick wall behind the hedges.
"A secret wall!" she thought.
To Hillary's way of thinking, that was as good as finding buried treasure. Who knew how long ago the wall had been built? Or how long ago it had been forgotten?
An hour later and six feet down the long line of bushes, Hillary discovered a gate. Her sense of adventure whetted, she attacked with the clippers and uncovered it. Pulling the handle resulted in loud squeals from the hinges, but the door stopped moving after an inch or two.
Hillary knew lube was in her bedroom, but that was the wrong lubricant. She found the box with tools and supplies, returned to the gate, and sprayed on a liberal coating of WD40. Pushing, pulling, and more sprays quieted the squealing hinges, and eventually, the door opened all the way.
The other side of the gate was covered by ivy, not hedges. Cutting a person sized hole, she stepped through to find herself in the neighbor's side yard. Looking back at the brick wall, she saw it was covered with ivy.
The ivy on one side and the hedges on the other completely hid the wall. Hillary, Jenna, Jefferson, and the realtor had passed by many times without seeing it.
The realtor had mentioned that decades ago when a railroad magnate had owned the property, the land where the neighbor's house was located had been an orchard.
"I wonder if the gate was so he could sneak out to the orchard to meet his mistress," Hillary thought, grinning at the idea.
Hillary imagined a nubile young woman reaching up to pick an apple. She wore a long, lacy, gossamer gown revealing her firm breasts and dark pubic hair. The woman sat under the tree, eating her apple and waiting for her lover to appear.
Her vivid imagination would have conjured up other scenarios, but she was distracted by a passing vehicle. The engine roared as the driver downshifted, brakes squealed, and the noise fell to an idle. It was the school bus stopping to let out three students.
* * * * *
I was lying on a chaise lounge in the backyard, working on my tan. I have always wanted an all-over tan but am afraid somebody will catch me naked in the backyard. Outrage would certainly follow such a discovery.
This is a small town, so the outrage might be about the nudity or because lying in the sun, doing nothing productive, violated a firm belief in the Puritan work ethic.
The bikini I wore was as skimpy as my modesty and age allowed. Not that I'm old, but at 37, I wasn't about to wear a suit as daring as the very trim, very firm twenty somethings that frequented the local beach. Nobody needs to see the dimples on my ass.
