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July 7th, 2000 Little Piece, NY
ANYA leaned back in her chair, and Mrs. McGlinty shoveled scrambled eggs from the pan and onto the plate. Tate was forking down his fried potatoes fast to try and make room for plenty of eggs. Turner and Nye were munching on cereal and slurping coffee—even though the pair were already stimulated to the point they could barely contain themselves.
“Of course, I don’t mind getting up early,” said Mrs. McGlinty as she moved down to spoon the rest of the eggs out for Tate. “I mean, I always do myself. My guests don’t usually get started so early though. I’m not used to making a big breakfast at this hour.” Outside a rooster crowed.
Anya smiled. “Don’t worry, Helen. This meal is wonderful. And we wouldn’t want you to put yourself out for us anyway.” Despite their being paying guests. “It’s incredible that you whipped all this up so fast.”
Anya wasn’t sure whether their hostess had intended to sound apologetic or aggrieved—the truth was, Mrs. McGlinty was fishing. The woman wondered why they were all getting up before dawn and heading out so early. She wouldn’t just ask, though.
Anya and Tate were used to rising this early and liked it. Turner and Nye had plenty of practice getting up with the sun, even if they didn’t care to, but today they meant to get a quick start back into the city—not that they’d been gone long enough to miss it yet. Anya certainly didn’t.
It had taken until midday on Wednesday to finish all their preparations before hiring a car to drive them to Little Piece. Now Nye insisted on turning right around and heading back. The girl wanted to hurry up and document the baseline for the current version of New York City, and Turner had generously volunteered to chaperone her this weekend. I can count on him to keep her out of trouble.
By the time the two returned Sunday evening, Anya hoped to have already found the right property and settled everything. Then they’d no longer need to stay at the bed and breakfast.
Mrs. McGlinty was nice, and a great cook, but it was awkward enough trying to keep their business private—living under the roof of an inveterate gossip was taking its toll on Anya’s nerves.
She decided to throw the woman a scrap. “The young people are traveling into the city this morning, and there’s plenty they want to get done before they come back.” Nye had her research, and Turner not only needed to keep an eye on the girl, Anya had him checking on the classified ads they’d placed in several papers, as well as investigating their other options. So he’d have his hands full.
A genteel honk sounded from outside, so Anya quickly added, “And Tate and I are going with Mrs. Grant to take a look at a few properties. I’m afraid I asked her to come at dawn.”
Nye remained focused on her coffee, but Turner was paying attention. Tate shoveled his remaining eggs down the hatch and stood. Anya followed his example and pushed back from the table, smiling at Mrs. McGlinty as she rose. “Thank you, again, for a really marvelous breakfast.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Anya.” Their hostess chuckled. “You’re not setting up your own bed and breakfast are you? Not that I’d mind—”
“Nothing like that. We’re just looking for some kind of summer retreat. For ourselves and some of our colleagues.”
Mrs. McGlinty’s eyebrows rose. “The work you people do—”
Anya cut in again, “I really don’t want to keep Mrs. Grant waiting.”
Turner stepped into the breach. “Your place is so nice here, Helen, I’m tempted to stay and forego the trip into the city.”
Nye shot Turner a hard glare under her bangs, but Mrs. McGlinty blushed. “Oh, you!”
This afforded Anya the opportunity to grab her bag and scurry out of the dining room without further conversation—she just waved to their hostess and flashed a final fretful glance at Turner and Nye. As Anya strode to the front door and onto the porch, she hoped they’d be moving into a new home today. Tate trundled out after her. At least he didn’t seem to be anxious about anything.
She worried about the arrangements she’d had to make with the bank, in order for them to be able to purchase some property—and that was in addition to getting the debit card. She’d been assured everything would go smoothly once they found the place they wanted. But she didn’t want to rush and pick the wrong one, so she tamped down her eagerness and sense of expectation.
She breezed down the walkway with Tate in tow to the curb, where Mrs. Grant sat in the driver’s seat of her station wagon playing with her cell phone. Of course, it wouldn’t be play but business. From her limited interaction with the woman, Anya thought the realtor must breathe business like most people breathed air.
Mrs. Grant nodded at them as they approached the car but kept talking on the phone. Anya opened the back door for Tate and then slid into the passenger seat next to the realtor.
“—and I’ll call back as soon as the papers have been signed.” Mrs. Grant ended her call and turned to Anya with a practiced smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but there’s always something.”
The woman turned her smile on Tate and then returned to Anya. “I have three potentials to show you today, and they should all satisfy your requirements.” The realtor handed Anya a stack of folders. “Take a look while we drive if you want, but I’ve got the details memorized so I can just rattle them off.” Mrs. Grant paused, but when Anya didn’t respond, the woman continued, “This first property I’ll show you is probably the one. You may not need to even look at the others.”
The realtor continued talking while the station wagon glided down the early morning streets. The people in this small rural town were already up and around, but there just weren’t that many of them, so it felt quiet and peaceful. Anya would love it here, and so would Tate. It might drive Nye crazy though, staying too long in this isolated spot, which would mean she’d make even more trips into the city.
Anya would have to figure out how to supervise the girl to keep her out of trouble. If Turner didn’t want to spend so much time in the city chaperoning Nye, the job would fall to Anya, since Tate was solid but not up to a lot of running around.
She’d recovered three of her fellow Travelers—she needed to find the others, not lose any of those she’d managed to gather so far.
She jerked her head up as the car turned onto a nicely paved driveway. A vast Colonial mansion sat on a slight hill. But she didn’t see a barn.
Mrs. Grant glanced her way. “You see how it’s sitting up there on the hill. It has a great view of the countryside. And you said you needed a big house.”
What Anya saw was an expensive luxury, and one that sat almost in the middle of the town. She’d asked for a place with more acreage, more privacy. And while they had plenty of money to spend, they didn’t have it to waste. “What about the barn?”
The realtor looked slightly uncomfortable. “Of course it has a barn. I don’t know that it’s exactly the kind of barn you asked for, but as for the house itself—it’s magnificent. You’ll see.”
“I’m sure it is, Mrs. Grant.” Anya smiled. “And since the house is that lovely, let’s take a look at the barn first.”
Mrs. Grant’s smile had returned, but faltered a bit before regaining form. “You’re the client.” No doubt the seller was a client, too.
Ms. Dervan had explained how things tended to work in the kind of small towns they’d be searching for property in, and so far Little Piece accorded with her description. It made Anya consider how much the realtor might talk. Their group couldn’t expect their conduct to go without comment, but it would be better if Mrs. Grant didn’t spread the word about their peculiar requests.
The station wagon turned to drive down a worn path around the side of the house. Behind it sat the so-called barn, which was more of a shack. Just by looking at the outside of it, Anya could tell it didn’t meet her specifications. They would require a big empty space for Traveling, since even if they stood right next to each other they’d still separate some. And they didn’t want to worry about being seen, and that meant indoors—a big empty barn.
Anya started shaking her head as soon as she saw it. “I’m sorry Mrs. Grant, but having a big barn is essential for us. I’m afraid this place simply won’t be suitable.”
“If you could just take a look inside the house...”
Anya kept shaking her head as she flipped back through the folders. The realtor gave a soft sigh, but she was a practical woman and turned the car back toward the front of the house and drove back down to the main road. While the realtor was focused on that, Anya picked out their new home.
She held the folder up high in front of the windshield, spread open so Mrs. Grant could see. “This place looks like it has a big enough barn.”
The realtor sighed and shoved the folder out of her face. That’s not the barn, that’s the house. But the barn is almost as big. Maybe bigger.”
Anya simply nodded. “It sounds just right.”
“I have to tell you, it’s on low lying land. Sometimes when we get the really heavy rains, it kind of floods. You’d better get flood insurance.”
“I’m sure it won’t be that bad—the roof doesn’t leak, does it?”
Mrs. Grant shook her head. “No, the house and barn are both in good repair, and solid. No problems there. But while the house is large, it’s got a lot of rooms. It’s built cramped—not a lot of space to move around in.”
“But the barn isn’t like that, is it?”
“No, the barn is airy. Lots of space and light. I think I’d rather live in that barn than the house—if it wasn’t for the lack of bathrooms and a kitchen.”
Which allayed Anya’s concerns. It sounded the perfect place for their purposes. “We may spend a lot of time working in the barn.”
“This work...”
Anya decided she’d better say something. “Art. And crafts—that sort of thing. More recreational than work.” Now she’d have to take up painting.
Mrs. Grant nodded. Apparently that was an explanation that made sense. “That should be alright, then. But another thing I have to mention...” The realtor hesitated. “This is quite a ways out of town. I know you wanted privacy, but it’s not exactly the, well, best location.”
Anya shook her head. “If you’re trying to tell me it’s not a nice area, Mrs. Grant, I won’t believe you. I don’t believe there’s a bit of Chickadee County that’s not nice.”
“Well...” The realtor gave a little cough. “Some bits of it are nicer than others.”
“As long as we’ve got a nice quiet place where everyone can get away for the summer and relax in peace, we’ll be fine.”
The realtor sighed. “You may be happy with the next place at that.” And she slowed the station wagon and turned down a wide gravel road between two trees and drove past a long metal gate that had been left wide open.
Anya looked into the distance to get a glimpse of their new home. The large wood house was painted forest green and the roof was bright orange. A vast garden spread around one side of the house, and a gigantic barn behind cast a huge shadow over it.
The more Anya saw of the place, the more she fell in love. She turned to give Mrs. Grant a wide smile. “I love it—the garden, that roof.”
“It’s a metal roof, you know—when it rains it’ll make an awful racket.”
“Perfect.” Anya started daydreaming of listening to the drumbeat of the rain on the metal roof. It reminded her of her childhood. She was sure this would be their new home now.
The realtor coughed. “I suppose you’ll want to see the barn first?”
Anya nodded. “We’ll want to look at the whole place before we make a decision, but I think this is it. But it’s the barn that will settle the question.”
Mrs. Grant eased past the side of the house and drove up to the barn. After she stopped the car and they all got out, she broached a new subject. “I don’t know what your plans are for transportation—did you plan to drive up here for the summer? In your own vehicles? Or will you be needing to rent something...”
Anya shook her head. Without proper identification, she doubted they’d be able to rent a car, or even buy one. They certainly couldn’t drive, legally speaking. “I think we’ll just buy a few bicycles for getting around up here.”
The realtor goggled but made no comment. Anya wondered if it would be such a hardship to cycle into town and around. Perhaps one of them should research the laws and local ordinances to see what kinds of transportation they could operate without the need for identification.
Anya sighed under her breath. Everywhere she looked there were a lot of these little problems that needed to be taken care of. Many due to the Travelers’ lack of proper identification. Someone should have foreseen the issue.
She set aside her worries about those problems and paid attention to the barn in front of them. She glanced at the house and back again. The barn had not been painted—it was simple varnished wood. It did look solid, well built. And as they approached the giant double doors, Anya lifted her eyes to see big windows high up, which would indeed let in lots of light.
Tate walked in front of her and pulled the heavy doors open. He stood aside and waved the ladies in. They stepped into the big empty space smelling of sawdust and mildew, and Anya saw that those high windows ran all along each wall of the barn. They’d be a nightmare to clean.
Then she noticed the wooden staircases on each side of the doorway, against the wall and going up to a narrow loft that ran all the way around the upper level, just under those windows. So that’s how they can be cleaned, on the inside anyway.
Anya asked Mrs. Grant about how they’d clean the outside of those windows.
The realtor cleared her throat. “That’s another thing I wanted to mention—I presume you’ll want help with the upkeep, especially if you’re only going to be around in summer.” Seeing Anya nod, Mrs. Grant continued, “What kind of help will you want? And do you need staff to help in the summer season as well? For cooking and cleaning? What about the lawn and the garden?”
Anya considered. They wouldn’t want the contemporaries coming in and out while the Travelers were using the place for research. “We’ll take care of everything ourselves during the season. The rest of the year we’ll want someone to take care of everything—the lawn and garden especially.”
Mrs. Grant nodded. “Old Bill Wheeler lives in the neighborhood, and he’s a great gardener—I’m sure he’ll be available to take care of the outdoors. What about the house itself? Live-in caretakers?”
Anya shook her head. “I don’t think that will be necessary—we won’t be leaving anything valuable behind. All we’ll need is someone to come by regularly and air the place out, dust and such.”
“I can recommend some people who’ll keep the house in order for you.”
Anya smiled. “Thank you. We’ll have the bank pay them directly, so they don’t have to contact us.”
The realtor nodded again. “But if anything does come up, we’ll need some kind of emergency contact information.”
Anya sighed. “I’ll give you someone you can get hold of at the bank—they can either deal with any situation themselves or contact us.” Which would be difficult, since Anya and the others would simply not exist outside of the summer. Traveling through the rest of the year, they’d miss whatever happened in the interim. That couldn’t be helped. Returning home would take long enough without living in real time. Though the slow path does have its appeal.
She turned around, taking a long look at the interior of the barn and anticipating the time she’d be spending here. Satisfied, she started walking back up to the house.
The realtor called from behind her. “You don’t mind if I drive back up? I can park by the door. It’ll make it easier when we leave.”
Anya called back over her shoulder. “I want the exercise. Tate can ride with you if he’d like.”
Tate must’ve wanted to walk, as he came trudging up to Anya. They both watched Mrs. Grant give a little wave through the car window as she backed up past them and turned the car toward the house.
While they had their moment of privacy, Anya spoke to her helper. “The barn is perfect for Traveling. If it doesn’t collapse while we’re gone.”
Tate smiled. “You worry too much, Leader. It’s solid. And even if it got knocked down by a tornado or something, we’d just land on top of the rubble—since we can only come through in empty space. We likely wouldn’t be seen out here.”
“Yes, I know I worry too much. Right now I’m anxious about Turner and Nye—did they get to the city alright? Who knows what trouble Nye could be in already?”
“You’re a mother hen.” At least he said it with his smile intact.
They were already coming up to the house, and Mrs. Grant, who must’ve gone in the front, opened the door that led onto the back porch for them and motioned them inside. The woman watched them climb the few short wooden steps.
She must’ve seen Anya checking her watch. “I know—it’s half past six in the morning. Time flies when you’re looking at houses.”
Anya shook herself to get rid of the worries she had about Turner and Nye—the pair wouldn’t even have arrived in the city yet. She needed to focus on her own business.
Following the realtor in off the porch, Anya noticed it led into a utility room, a very narrow space that ran the entire length of the back of the house. There was a washer and dryer, but not much room to use them. Cramped, indeed.
Mrs. Grant preceded Anya and the taciturn Tate down a narrow hallway past a number of doors and into a large kitchen. It, too, was cramped, with its big island and the table and chairs and the counter and cabinets jutting out everywhere.
The realtor pointed. “You’ll find a long, narrow pantry through one of those doors.”
She walked through an open door into another short hallway and led them past a narrow staircase. She ushered them into a large living room stuffed with furniture. A big bay window with a seat looked out onto the front porch. Anya was entranced. It just keeps getting better.
Mrs. Grant waved her arms around. “There are two ground floor bedrooms around that corner and upstairs a couple more and a master suite with a full bath. There’s another one and a half baths up there, and three half baths down here. You might miss the attic under the roof which is hard to find, but it’ll get really hot in the summer, so I don’t know that you’ll want to use it for anything.”
Anya nodded and strolled out the other door to find herself in a main hall staring at a second staircase. The steps were quite deep, and it was barely wide enough for her to climb without turning sideways. Tate and Mrs. Grant followed her.
The realtor must’ve known what she was thinking. “The other stairs aren’t quite so narrow.”
Anya shook her head. Harold wouldn’t want to climb this, so she’d reserve one of the ground floor bedrooms for him. The other would’ve been for the professor, if he were still with them.
She looked up the staircase for a long moment, fighting back the tears so she could face Mrs. Grant. “I don’t think I need to look any more. This is it.”
“You can’t really go wrong, investing in real estate. Prices always go up. But you should check the place out thoroughly, pay for a professional inspection before you commit yourself.”
Anya remembered the price from the folder the woman had given her. Amazing that a home should be so expensive.
She turned to Tate. “Why don’t you look around up there and make sure there are no problems? I’ll stay down here and take care of business.”
Tate nodded without a word and squeezed past Anya to start climbing the stairs. The realtor took a glance back in the living room and then suggested, “Why don’t we sit down in the kitchen to go over the paperwork?”
So Anya followed her back, and they both sat at the large circular oak table that took up the space not occupied by the island. Mrs. Grant took a thick folder out of her bag. “Now then, there are a lot of forms to fill out, and I’ll have to call the lawyer, Mr. Pistlethorn, to see when we can close.”
Anya shook her head. “It won’t be that complicated.” She reached into her own bag and retrieved a folder. The hard work had been done—this part should be easy. “We’ve already made our arrangements with Mr. Pistlethorn.” The local lawyer with the unfortunate name seemed to handle all the real estate transactions in town.
She continued, “The trustees at our bank have prepared the funding, and the trust itself will be the official owner, the purchaser of the property. It’s all been taken care of.” She slid out a sheet of paper. “I simply sign this authorization, confirming the specific property and the agreed price and fees. Then you can drop it off with Mr. Pistlethorn. The bankers and the lawyers will handle the rest. While you and I get on with life.”
Mrs. Grant gaped for a moment, then smiled a genuine smile. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
The realtor handed Anya a financial disclosure sheet with the full purchase price with closing and other costs detailed, then watched as Anya copied the information onto her authorization form. She signed her name at the bottom and then pulled the ink pad she’d bought from her bag and affixed her thumbprint next to her signature. She slid the completed form over to Mrs. Grant with a smile.
“There now.” Anya dropped the ink pad back into her bag. “All done. What next?”
The realtor returned to her usual businesswoman persona. “Since no one is in residence and only the formalities remain, why don’t I give you the keys now? So you can start making this place over. I can tell you’re eager to get started.”
Anya grinned. “That sounds great. But could you give us a ride back into town? We need to buy some supplies—sheets and dishes and groceries. I suppose we’ll have to take care of getting the power turned on first, for the refrigerator. And of course we’ll need a couple of bicycles and maybe a wagon. Does someplace in town sell wagons? Or bicycles for that matter?”
Mrs. Grant was shaking her head—not in negation but in wonder. “Of course. I’ll take you there. And I can show you where the electric company is. Sounds like you’re going to have a busy day.”
Anya didn’t mind that. They’d also need to get their things from Mrs. McGlinty’s—no need to stay there another night. They had their new home now, and Anya couldn’t wait to move in.