THE OLD STONE house looked solemn in the September afternoon. Even the birds were quiet, as if in respect for its suffering. Annie stared at charred stones, glassless windows, and a scorched chimney jutting into the blue sky, all evidence of the fiery injustice done only weeks ago.
Glass in the fanlight window over the front door was gone, a casualty of the water pressure that night as men guided hoses to the fire in the upstairs room. There was no time then to think of collateral damage. The goal was to save the house.
The door stood slightly ajar. Annie slipped inside, her running shoes crunching on pieces of glass, the stench of smoke still heavy in the air. They had left the house just as it was after the fire, not daring to move anything out until the insurance company had done its own investigation. Now it was disappointingly over, with no prize at the end of the waiting. The check her grandmother received was a fraction of the repair estimates.
“Well, that’s that,” her grandmother had said.
For all her love of heritage, home, and family, Annie knew Beulah was ultimately a frugal realist. To counter her own disappointment, Annie went for her daily run through the barn lot, following the farm lane to the stone house, as if the house might tell her how it could be saved.
The downstairs rooms had damaged plaster and warped wood floors from the water. She went carefully up the stairs and looked into the room where Stella, the renter, had left a candle burning. The fire had leaped up a curtain near the chimney, burning a hole in the roof.
Amidst the destruction, Annie closed her eyes and imagined the house as it was in her childhood, before her mother’s illness, before the house went into the hands of whoever needed shelter and offered cash by the month.
Windows open, curtains dancing in the honeysuckle-scented breeze, and a vase of lavender on the bedside table. Clinking pans in the kitchen, the smell of savory cooking, a crackling fire in the great stone fireplace. In the summer, her mother tended to her small garden, or the patch of lavender just beyond the back door. In the winter, the rich brew of coffee warmed and comforted the adults sitting around the fire. Story after story fueled laughter, while Annie and her childhood friend Jake occupied themselves with a game or puzzle nearby.
The house offered no answers and only fueled her discouragement. Outside in the fresh air, she plucked a green walnut off a tree and breathed in the scent that whispered summer is over. If the house was not repaired soon, the fall rains and winter wind would invite even more destruction.
Annie set off on a run back to the house she shared with her grandmother, this time crossing the wooden bridge spanning Gibson’s Creek and then onto the tree-lined road bordering the branch. Once she reached May Hollow Road, she relaxed as the rhythmic thumping on macadam cleared her head. After a half mile, she turned right into her grandmother’s long and winding driveway just across from Betty and Joe Gibson’s small bungalow. The white plank fence lined the curving driveway, newly repaired and painted, the result of her hard work this summer after losing her job as a flight attendant.
Betty Gibson’s faded pink Cadillac was parked in the driveway. Annie slowed her pace, not in a hurry to see their nosy neighbor, especially today. Betty had taken to stopping by a couple times a week since Annie had moved home. Betty’s smothering interest in her personal life had grown annoying. The screen door creaked when Annie opened it and the chatter of a female voice stopped as soon as she stepped into the mudroom just off the kitchen.
“Is that you, Annie?” Betty called. “I was telling Beulah the zinnias are beautiful. If the frost holds off, they’ll be perfect for Scott and Mary Beth’s wedding.”
Annie steeled herself, remembered her customer service training as a flight attendant, and smiled before entering the kitchen.
Betty was sitting across from her grandmother at the farmhouse table, her curly blonde hair held back by two barrettes, her eyes wide with interest. They were both drinking iced tea, empty dessert plates in front of them.
“I surely hope the weather is good,” Betty said. “Evelyn is about to work herself to death.”
Annie busied herself with pouring a glass of iced sweet tea.
“But I really don’t understand why Evelyn is goin’ to all this trouble. I mean, Scott and Mary Beth are no kin to her,” Betty said. “I know they met while taking Sunday dinner with you and Evelyn on your mission of mercy to the local single folks, but she’s acting like they are her own children. Here’s her own son, Jake, nearly about to marry Annie, and she won’t have nothing left over to give.”
“Jake and I aren’t even engaged,” Annie said. “Evelyn will have lots of time to recover from this one.”
“You know Evelyn loves a party,” Beulah said.
“It’s a mighty big expense,” Betty said, with a disapproving shake of her head. “How much you expect she’s paying for all this?”
“Scott and Mary Beth have good jobs. They’re paying for the wedding,” Annie said. “Evelyn’s hosting it.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” Betty said, leaning back in her chair. “I did wonder.”
Annie felt like she had thrown a mouse to the cat.
“Would you like a piece of Betty’s derby pie?” Beulah said, pointing to the pie on the counter.
“Kentucky Nut Pie. You know all that trademark business,” Betty corrected, with a dismissive hand wave.
“Sounds good,” she said, her opinion of Betty softening. The pie plate was still warm, and Annie’s mouth watered as the knife cut through the pecans and soft chocolate morsels.
“Speaking of you not being engaged,” Betty said. “It’s time enough with you and Jake, don’t you think? Why, you two have known each other since birth. When we gonna hear weddin’ bells around here?” Betty said, her head cocked to one side.
The chocolate chips were still warm and melted in Annie’s mouth. She closed her eyes, enjoyed the sweetness, and ignored Betty’s question.
“I showed Betty the estimates for fixing the old stone house,” Beulah said.
“Higher than a cat’s back,” Betty said. “What do they think coming in with prices like that? Law have mercy! Joe and me were talking about it last night and he told me there’s a fella over in Rutherford who has a business selling salvage from old houses. He pays good money to take an old house apart. They take out all the good wood, the trim work, and the fireplace. Why, Joe said there’s no telling what he’ll pay for the stone house with all those old limestones to be reused. Just think about it, Beulah. You get the money from the insurance, little as it is, and then you get paid again to haul off all the pieces and parts. A bulldozer can take care of the rest and there you’ve got a nice place to build a new house, if Annie and Jake ever get married.”
“That so?” Beulah said.
“Don’t you like the idea, Annie? Your age group is all so interested in recycling and such. Repurpose; isn’t that what they call it today? I heard the word on The Today Show. You know, I used to love Matt Lauer; I could have sopped him up with a biscuit. I’ve gone off him lately. What do you think, Annie?”
“About Matt Lauer?”
“No, honey, about salvaging a house for recycling,” Betty said.
“Houses should be used as houses whenever possible,” Annie said, and glanced at her grandmother.
“Well, I better get supper started,” Betty said, and pushed back her chair. “Joe comes in at four-thirty hungry as a bear, and if I don’t have something on the table, he goes to paw at the refrigerator and mess up my organizations.”
Beulah stood.
“Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out,” Betty said. “See you tomorrow night, Beulah.”
The screen door slammed behind her. Annie turned to her grandmother.
“How do you stand her? She’s always digging for something.”
Beulah laughed. “She doesn’t bother me. You have to understand, Betty was the Tobacco Festival queen for three years in a row when she was young. In fact, when Hollywood came ‘round years ago to film a Civil War feature, they picked her to be a stand-in. Life has never quite measured up since then, so she has to hunt down her own excitement.”
“It’s no excuse,” Annie said. Though it did shed a glimmer of light on Betty’s personality, not to mention her buxom features and straight white teeth. “She makes tearing down the house look pretty attractive, but will you give me some time to see if there’s any other way we can save it?”
Annie searched her grandmother’s face for softening, just like she had done when she was young. She saw nothing there to give her hope. In times past, Annie would have gone to her grandfather, knowing he would see her side, and then work on her grandmother in the way only he could. But Annie was an adult now, and there was no one else to do the work for her.
“I’ve been doing some thinking lately,” Beulah said, her tone measured and calm. “You know I want to leave you this farm intact. It’s one hundred forty-three acres of well-watered land, what with Gibson’s Creek running through it and several springs. I’ve told you before it’s paid off. I have savings as well, but I’m getting older, and we don’t know what the future holds.”
Her grandmother paused before going on. “The stone house gave me rental income and helped with my living expenses. Now, I’ve lost the income, and we’re looking at many thousands of dollars to fix the house. I can’t imagine how we could make up the difference between the insurance money and what they’re saying it will take to fix it. I hate the thought of losing that old house. It’s been in my family since the beginning. However, you need to understand that if I have to choose between saving the farm or the old house, I’ll choose the farm.”
“I understand,” Annie nodded. “But Grandma, give me some time to try to find another solution. Please!”
Beulah looked at her like a teacher looked at an errant student.
“We have to do something before November. With the roof burned through in the one room upstairs, the fall rains will destroy what’s left to save,” she said.
“That’s only two months from now,” Annie said.
“The salvage company will need time to get everything out before the rains start if you don’t find a solution. Let’s see where you are in two weeks. Then we’ll make a decision.”
“But Grandma, two weeks …” Annie said.
“Two weeks,” Beulah said firmly.