Christmas With Hover Hill by Fay Risner

sake!”
    Hover stared at her. “Don't tell me this is the wrong
house.”
    “ No, I'm afraid it is the right house. This
kitchen is just as I remembered it. You would think my father could
have remodeled this house sometime in all the years he's owned
it.
    Look at that old, large sink with the drain pad.”
Elizabeth waved her hand around the room. “These cupboards, with
layers of white paint, must be the original ones yet.”
    She patted the bright yellow table in the middle of
the room. “This chrome table and chairs are vintage fifties. Scott
and I played checkers right here.”
    She turned to look behind her. “How about this old
dish cupboard? Bet it has been here since the house was built over
a hundred years ago.” She pulled down on a knob. “This is a flour
bin. See the crank at the bottom. The flour sifted out into a bowl
to make bread and biscuits back in the old days.” She opened the
top doors. “We at least have a set of dishes. You can go through
the other cupboards to see what pots and pans are there for
cooking.”
    Hover surmised, “This is a twentieth century country
house built in circa 1910. What did you expect it to look like? It
does have a gas cookstove to cook meals on and running water to do
dishes.”
    “ Well, aren't you Mr. Look On The Bright Side.”
Elizabeth looked concerned again. “Oh, I hope Dad at least
remodeled enough that I don't have to go outside to use the
outhouse anymore.” She rushed from the room.
    Hover droned behind her, “What is an outhouse?”
    She called back from the hallway off the living room.
“For us humans that have active bladders and intestines, an
outhouse is an unheated building outside of the house that's most
unpleasant to use especially in the winter time.”
    “ Oh,” Hover said. He peered down the hall as
Elizabeth disappeared into a room. She came right back, leaned
against the wall and patted her chest. “Thank goodness. Dad did
have a bathroom put in.”
    “ You worried for nothing.”
    “ He sure didn't hurt his bank account. I've
seen prettier bathrooms. Come look for yourself. Dad left in place
the old, humongous bathtub with claw feet. All he did was have a
stool put in. The lighting, such as it is, hangs from an old cord
attached to the ceiling. That has to have been there since the
thirties or forties when electricity first came through
here.”
    “ I would say be thankful you have a stool,”
Hover returned.
    “ I am. Believe me, really I am since nothing
else has changed in this house. Still the same boxy rooms with
dark, carved woodwork and high ceilings.” She walked around the
living room and held her hand in front of a window. “Old drafty
windows. We need to get the fire going while I still have my coat
on.” She stopped to look at the fireplace, a mosaic of rocks with a
walnut mantle. “Logs are probably kept out back. I've never started
a fire before.”
    “ I saw an LP tank off to the side of the house.
There may be a furnace installed as well as the cookstove,” Hover
Hill suggested.
    Elizabeth searched the living room walls and walked
back down the hallway. “Good for you, Hover. Here's the
thermostat.” She tweaked it and heard the furnace ignite. “We will
be warm soon.”
    She opened another door. “This is the stairway to the
upstairs bedrooms. I don't intend to go up there. The rooms aren't
heated. I can sleep in Dad's bedroom next to the bathroom. Where
would be a good place for you to wind down?
    “ I power down,” Hover corrected with a
exacerbated sigh as he looked around. “I'm going to stand next to
the fireplace.”
    Dusty, gold metal framed family pictures strung
together with cobwebs lined the stairwell walls. Some of them were
Scott and her in 8 x 10 inch school pictures. That stairwell was as
close as her father could come to hiding the pictures of his
children from his girlfriends without completely throwing them
away. Out of sight, out of mind. It wouldn't do to have his flavor
of the