"That's the third time Molly has gone to the door," my wife said, referring to our four-year-old yellow lab while looking at me with a strange expression.
I knew her odd look was really one of concern, but since I didn't think there was anything to worry about, I gave her an answer intended to allay her fears.
"Honey, we're in the country now. Molly's nose is getting assaulted with all kinds of smells. It's probably a rabbit and she wants to chase it," I answered dismissively.
"It makes me nervous," she said, admitting her worry.
"Give her a few weeks and she'll be so use to it all, she won't get up," I replied with a little laugh and was happy to see a smile appear on her face.
Susan and I had recently moved to a small agricultural community and purchased a house on ten acres a few miles outside the city limits. It had more or less fallen into our laps, and since it was a relatively new three-bedroom home at a good price, we decided to give it a go. Besides, the detached workshop that came with it got my "man cave" juices flowing, and the small inground pool was a real rarity.
The reason for our move was the opportunity I accepted to join the staff of a community bank. After several years in a large city, we decided we wanted a better environment to live and raise a family, so we put out some feelers and after several months, I landed the position. I would essentially be the number three man in the bank, and although it sounded good, the truth was it came with a pay cut. Fortunately, my wife was able to land a job as a program lead for the school district and was even allowed several months to settle in before she had to start.
Susan and I met through mutual friends six years ago, when I was twenty-five and trying to get my career going in banking. She was just coming out of a long-term relationship and was reluctant to get serious too quickly, however, there seemed to be a natural draw between us and soon we were spending most of our free time together. Three months after we met, we were intimate for the first time which eliminated any remaining barriers in our relationship, and a year later, we married. Susan was working in the admissions department of a community college at the time, and for the next few years, we lived the life of big city suburbia. However, we both found it repetitive, cold, and impersonal, so we started to explore opportunities for change, which led to our current situation.
My wife is three years younger than me and very pretty in a natural way. Meaning, she puts little effort into looking good, but still manages to attract lots of attention. She is a graceful 5'7" tall and is slender, with long, shapely legs that merge into a nicely toned rear. Her light brown, shoulder-length hair is offset by a pair of dazzling blue eyes. Also, she has full C-cup breasts that sit high on her chest, but with her conservative style, they are usually well-hidden beneath modest clothing.
The next day, I arrived home before my wife who was out picking up some things for the house. Deciding, to make sure there was nothing to Molly's behavior, I started to make a half-hearted inspection outside and was stopped cold when I saw in the dry earth a set of scuffed footprints at a spot that would provide an observer a direct view through a picture window into our living room. Instantly, my mind churned with questions concerning who it might be and for what purpose. After all, it wasn't like there were houses next door, and whoever made the imprints had to have purposefully crossed a significant distance to get to the spot. In fact, as I thought about it, I wasn't even sure where the closest house to us was located.
Later that evening, when Susan was settled in front of the TV, I went to the computer on the pretext of some work issues and began to use the satellite feature of the mapping program to learn about the nearest houses. It didn't take long, and doing some scaling I identified two houses that were within a half-mile of ours. I decided that the next day I would drive by them, but for now, I decided to return to my wife.
Susan was as I had left her, curled up on the sofa in her robe watching a reality show. I moved next to her and immediately my eyes went to the window, wondering if our peeping tom was out there again. Molly seemed relaxed, which gave me comfort, but it wasn't long before I moved towards the curtains.
"Why did you do that?" my wife asked when I closed them.
She liked the house to be very light and airy, and for some reason, it meant open curtains after dark, too.
"I don't know. It just seems off keeping them open. We never did it in the city," I answered, not wanting to worry her with the truth.
"We aren't in the city," she replied, although she let the subject drop.
After work, in the soft evening light of early spring, I looked over both of the houses I had identified. The first was on the same road as us, about a quarter-mile further from town. It was a small, well-maintained brick house set back from the road. There was the name "Davenport" on the mailbox along with the address, which I took note of, and then headed for the next place. This one was not on the same road and required that I drive another half-mile out, make two right turns and proceed down a gravel county road. The property backed up on our parcel, and as I drove slowly by, I spotted an aged double-wide trailer, a large barn-like structure, and several other smaller buildings. There were numerous pieces of farm equipment scattered about which made me think the resident might be a mechanic.
It took a few days to discreetly gather information on the two homes. I learned the first one I had scoped out belonged to a Mr. Carl Davenport, who was retired from the Soil Conservation Service and lived alone with his wife. He was a deacon in the Baptist church, so I quickly decided he wasn't the likely culprit and turned my attention to the second house.
This one, I learned, was inhabited by a family named Gass, which consisted of a mid-thirties husband and wife, and two boys, aged thirteen and fifteen. Instantly, I suspected one or both of these boys were the likely peeping tom, which actually allayed my concerns. The pubescent adventures of two young boys were infinitely preferable to some sinister adult pervert and certainly understandable, so at first, I decided to just let it go. However, when I found fresh marks in the same spot the following week, I decided it would be worth it to discuss it with the boy's father.
"Got any proof?" Hardin Gass asked after I had explained my concerns.
I had arrived at his place and found him working on a diesel truck. We had chatted for a few minutes before I brought up the peeping and in that time, I learned that in addition to mechanic work, he also occasionally did general handyman work. I guessed him to be around six-feet tall and he appeared to be in pretty good shape with the most noticeable part of him being his extremely well-developed biceps that stretched the t-shirt he was wearing. In addition, he had a full beard with a few specks of gray that stood in contrast to his tight haircut.
"Well...no...other than you're the closest house," I stammered.
"So, nothing then," he countered.
"Look, I'm just asking you to have a word," I said, suddenly becoming frustrated.
He stared at me for several seconds and then gave me a simple nod. With that, he returned to his work and after a few more awkward moments, I turned and left.
I had no way of knowing whether he spoke with his sons, but checking around the house for the next few weeks, I found no new marks. For some reason, I felt bad about the tense beginning that had occurred, so when I decided to get some things down on the workshop, I decided to contact Hardin. It required me to drive to his place once more, and I could see the disdain on his face as I approached. Even as I offered him the opportunity, his expression stayed hard, and I considered telling him to forget it, but we ended the discussion with him agreeing to drive over the following weekend to have a look.
It wasn't a big job, mostly carpentry work that would take a few days, and we were almost finished when Susan appeared. She wasn't dressed in anything special, just jeans and a pullover sweater, but I saw Hardin's eyes light up immediately. There was a brief introduction, and for the next few minutes, while I explained to her what I had in mind, I watched as our neighbor's eyes roamed her body.
The work turned out very good, and a few weeks later I hired him to do another small job. Several times during those efforts, there would be an occasion where my wife would come into contact with him, and in each case, he exhibited the same leering behavior. It should have been a warning to me, making bells go off, but it wasn't uncommon for Susan to attract attention, so I overlooked it.
At about the same time, more out of charity than need, we hired a young Hispanic girl, who was barely twenty-one, to clean the house on Saturdays. She was already divorced with an infant daughter, and to her credit, was doing her best to make ends meet. We had been approached by our parish priest to help out and being new to the community, we thought it would be a good gesture to give her a try. She didn't do the greatest job in the world, but it was adequate, and considering her situation, we decided to maintain the arrangement.
