As they walked up the steps, Penelope’s fingers itched for a sketch pad.
“Come inside. Don’t worry about falling through the porch. It’s not original construction. About fifty years ago, someone replaced the boards and they’re still in pretty good shape.” Brooke waved a hand at the peeling paint. “At least, structurally speaking.” Pulling a keyless fob from her purse, she clicked it. She typed in a code on the keypad beside the door. Only then did she turn the knob. At Penelope’s raised eyebrows, she said, “My husband’s in security. As soon as we closed on the house, and before he would let me set foot inside, he replaced all the locks with electronic sensors. It’s not traditional, but it’s reliable, and like I said, lately we’ve had a few problems in Bella Terra.”
“Must be some impressive problems.”
“Oh, yeah.” Brooke sounded disgusted.
Penelope meant to inquire further, but as they stepped into the two-story entry hall, the prospect of working on this project took her breath away.
A few broken pieces of furniture remained scattered throughout the visible rooms, but for the most part, the place was, as Brooke had said, stripped down to its bones.
Yet what glorious bones those were.
The solid wood floor swept into the parlor at the left and the grand room on the right, toward the curving sweep of the staircase and into the shadows beyond. The plaster walls met the wainscoting of the ceiling, and at each corner a carved wooden ribbon held a spray of plaster flowers. A mirror, mottled with age, decorated the wall over a broken, listing entry table. The crystal chandelier hung in front of the transom window atop the door.
Brooke flipped the switch; the massive chandelier lit, but half of the thirty candle-shaped bulbs were burned out. Cobwebs and dust obscured the rest of the illumination, leaving the entry still in shadow.
Yet Penelope could see what had put that hopeful expression on Brooke’s face. “The house faces west, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And as the sun sets, the rays strike the prisms and rainbows dance up the stairs?”
“Yes!” Brooke beamed.
“When it’s cleaned, it will be magnificent.” Penelope tossed her soft leather purse into the corner of the entry, knelt, and ran her hand over the floor, scratched and worn, yet glowing with ambers and with a distinctive grain pattern she thought she recognized. “Is this heart pine?” She had to ask. It was so rare, she’d seen it used only once before, in a historical mansion in Virginia.
Brooke leaned against the doorframe, tense with excitement. “They told us that’s what it is, but I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that it is cut from the heart of first-growth pine trees that stood before the first settlers arrived on these shores, trees so old and so large that their straight-grained heartwood could be used for flooring. Even if there were such trees now, they’d be preserved, and rightfully not cut for such vanities as heart pine flooring.” In theory, Penelope mourned the trees that gave their lives for such a frivolous vanity, but that had happened long before she was born. And to have a chance to work with such beauty…
“Now I know what it means. It means we scored big-time,” Brooke said.
“Exactly, because this wood is known for its resilience, and once you have it sanded and refinished, it will last you and your children and your grandchildren.” Penelope watched as Brooke passed a betraying hand over her belly. “I haven’t seen the whole house yet, but if the rest of it has these kinds of accoutrements… restoration will bring it back to magnificence.”
“I know!” Alive with eagerness, Brooke stepped away from the door and slammed it shut.
Standing, Penelope asked, “Where shall we start?”
Two trips to the drugstore and a food delivery later, the two women sat on the bottom step in the entry, picking the toppings off the remains of a large
“Come inside. Don’t worry about falling through the porch. It’s not original construction. About fifty years ago, someone replaced the boards and they’re still in pretty good shape.” Brooke waved a hand at the peeling paint. “At least, structurally speaking.” Pulling a keyless fob from her purse, she clicked it. She typed in a code on the keypad beside the door. Only then did she turn the knob. At Penelope’s raised eyebrows, she said, “My husband’s in security. As soon as we closed on the house, and before he would let me set foot inside, he replaced all the locks with electronic sensors. It’s not traditional, but it’s reliable, and like I said, lately we’ve had a few problems in Bella Terra.”
“Must be some impressive problems.”
“Oh, yeah.” Brooke sounded disgusted.
Penelope meant to inquire further, but as they stepped into the two-story entry hall, the prospect of working on this project took her breath away.
A few broken pieces of furniture remained scattered throughout the visible rooms, but for the most part, the place was, as Brooke had said, stripped down to its bones.
Yet what glorious bones those were.
The solid wood floor swept into the parlor at the left and the grand room on the right, toward the curving sweep of the staircase and into the shadows beyond. The plaster walls met the wainscoting of the ceiling, and at each corner a carved wooden ribbon held a spray of plaster flowers. A mirror, mottled with age, decorated the wall over a broken, listing entry table. The crystal chandelier hung in front of the transom window atop the door.
Brooke flipped the switch; the massive chandelier lit, but half of the thirty candle-shaped bulbs were burned out. Cobwebs and dust obscured the rest of the illumination, leaving the entry still in shadow.
Yet Penelope could see what had put that hopeful expression on Brooke’s face. “The house faces west, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And as the sun sets, the rays strike the prisms and rainbows dance up the stairs?”
“Yes!” Brooke beamed.
“When it’s cleaned, it will be magnificent.” Penelope tossed her soft leather purse into the corner of the entry, knelt, and ran her hand over the floor, scratched and worn, yet glowing with ambers and with a distinctive grain pattern she thought she recognized. “Is this heart pine?” She had to ask. It was so rare, she’d seen it used only once before, in a historical mansion in Virginia.
Brooke leaned against the doorframe, tense with excitement. “They told us that’s what it is, but I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that it is cut from the heart of first-growth pine trees that stood before the first settlers arrived on these shores, trees so old and so large that their straight-grained heartwood could be used for flooring. Even if there were such trees now, they’d be preserved, and rightfully not cut for such vanities as heart pine flooring.” In theory, Penelope mourned the trees that gave their lives for such a frivolous vanity, but that had happened long before she was born. And to have a chance to work with such beauty…
“Now I know what it means. It means we scored big-time,” Brooke said.
“Exactly, because this wood is known for its resilience, and once you have it sanded and refinished, it will last you and your children and your grandchildren.” Penelope watched as Brooke passed a betraying hand over her belly. “I haven’t seen the whole house yet, but if the rest of it has these kinds of accoutrements… restoration will bring it back to magnificence.”
“I know!” Alive with eagerness, Brooke stepped away from the door and slammed it shut.
Standing, Penelope asked, “Where shall we start?”
Two trips to the drugstore and a food delivery later, the two women sat on the bottom step in the entry, picking the toppings off the remains of a large