Melva’s Place

by

O

“Most of the furniture conveys with the house,” Debbie said as we looked around.

The top of Melva’s polished oak kitchen table shone under a porcelain chandelier. Four matching pressed-back chairs were arranged neatly, waiting for a family dinner. A photograph of Melva’s grandchildren smiled at me from a frame on the wall, three boys. Melva liked red apples. Several framed prints displayed baskets of the fruit. Being this close to the seashore, I expected beach pictures. These apple scenes reminded me of home and our mountain orchards.

The living and dining rooms were more formal with a dark drop leaf table, chairs and matching hutch with Melva’s wedding china displayed. Through an arched doorway we found the wall we hoped would have a fireplace. The chimney outside gave us an expectation. We didn’t find one though. A large mirror hung where we expected to find a mantle. Melva’s couch was covered in a gold brocade, matching pillows hugged the sides of the sofa. Two chairs, a ‘his’ and ‘hers’ flanked the couch. Melva’s reclined and rocked.

I opened the closet by the front door. Photo albums lined the top shelf where I imagined hats would be. Ladies sweaters and jackets hung below, smelling of lavender and dusting powder, an aroma so familiar to me, I felt the comfort of my grandmother. I had an overwhelming urge to reach out and embrace Melva’s sweaters.

Her bedroom stopped me at the door. Before me I found the dark wood furniture I knew from childhood, the four-poster bed, vanity with mirror, chest of drawers and nightstand. Even the dresser scarves were familiar. I stood there, my hand to my chest, my mouth open.

“What’s wrong?” Bruce asked, walking up beside me.

“It’s Grandma’s bedroom,” I said.

“Huh?” he said, completely puzzled.

“It’s the same furniture my Grandma had when I was a little girl,” I said.

“I guess they would have been close to the same age,” Bruce said. “It must have been a popular style.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I said.

“I know you don’t. That’s what worries me. Let’s go look at the bathroom.”

The tub and toilet were the heavy porcelain of 1950, and shiny white. The linen closet smelled of cedar, and each towel was folded just so and stacked one on another with washcloths along side.

The second bedroom displayed pictures of Melva’s daughter, son-in-law, and three grandsons. A homemade quilt warmed the double bed. The ginger jar bedside lamp was filled with seashells.

Bruce pulled the attic stairs down and we climbed up. Melva’s attic had dormer windows, unlike my Grandma’s, but the pull string to turn the overhead light on was the same. While Bruce inspected the walls, roof, duct work and furnace, I counted Melva’s canning jars, marveled over her Christmas decorations sparkling from an open cardboard box, and touched the delicate lace of a fancy dress hanging from the rafters. The dry cleaner’s plastic bag had fallen off one shoulder. I wondered where she had worn that dress, to her fiftieth wedding anniversary, to a garden party, to her daughter’s wedding?

“Looks good up here,” Bruce said from the stairs. “Come on down. I don’t want you falling through the hole in the ceiling not looking where you’re going.”

I followed him down the stairs and he folded them back up.

We thanked Debbie for showing us the place on such short notice. “We’ll be in touch,” I said.

Part 3: https://trainswhistle.wordpress.com/2013/02/03/crunching-numbers/

Advertisements

Tags: , , , , ,

12 Responses to “Melva’s Place”

  1. deanabo Says:

    Its probably hard for Melva’s family to sell. How sad…

  2. kimpoole3 Says:

    The suspense is killing me!

  3. ly Says:

    Now I know how the old radio listeners felt when they had to wait for the next chapter the following week.

  4. Joyce Says:

    This has lots of mystery behind every item, picture, piece of furniture, etc. as if you are in a dream. Now you have me very curious about who really owns the house. But, I’ll wait for the next installment. 🙂

  5. Ron McKinney aka "OldMack" Says:

    Emotion-packed entertainment. The wall where the fireplace was/ or should have been reminds me of my first house in Quantico; burning wood would not heat the drafty house and heat from electric heaters went straight up the flu. So I boarded it up, but never got round to papering it over. I’m going to feint when you open Melva’s bedroom door.

    • train-whistle Says:

      Thanks Mack. The saga continues. It seems that when Melva and her husband built the house they didn’t have enough money to finish the fireplace and planned to do it later. Never happened.

      So you were in Virginia at one time? Ever in my neck of the woods?

  6. Southern Sea Muse Says:

    Ooooh, this is GOOD! A perfect combination of description and plot. And it has such appeal, as well – each paragraph evokes curiosity.

What do you think? Leave a comment.

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s


%d bloggers like this: