The plumbing definitely needs repair. The knot in the crook in my neck gets tighter and it’s so humid my dusty silk blouse starts to stick to my skin. “I’m afraid to ask, but what about the electrical wiring?”
“I noticed the hundred-foot extension cord.” He chuckles as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his thumbs hooked over the tops and pointed at his fly.
Not that I look.
“There are two outdoor power posts, one on either side of the house. One’s about ten feet out from the library window.” He takes a hand from his pocket and points. “Making that one there about thirty feet closer than the kitchen.”
Yeah, I know. I’m bad with measurements.
“You should probably have an electrician come out, just to be on the safe side.”
I half-jokingly ask, “Are we going to burn to death in a fiery inferno?”
One corner of his mouth kicks up. “I doubt it will be an inferno.”
That’s about as reassuring as his smile, and I’ve gone from half joking to half panic.
“Y’all should be fine.” His smile turns to a grin, the same one he wore when he told me that I was sitting where “we laid poor old Jasper out.” He rocks back on the heels of his boots and adds, “The outlets will likely blow a fuse before throwing sparks.”
Fuses? Throwing sparks? “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“Partly.”
“Which part?”
“The throwing sparks part.”
What does that mean? “So, will the fuses likely blow, or are we going to die in an inferno?”
He stares at me for several moments like I’m slow in the head. “No… sparks. I was pulling your leg.” I must look as skeptical as I feel, because he adds, “I’ve worked on this house for close to twenty-five years now. I said y’all should be fine.”
“Twenty-five years and the house is falling apart?” His brows lower over his eyes. “No offense.”
“Uh-huh.” He adjusts the brim of his hat. “It was always feast or famine with Jasper and restoration. When he could afford me, he’d call, and we’d get to work on his latest project.”
That would explain why some parts of the house are more time-warped than others. “Why didn’t he hire someone more affordable and get the bathrooms fixed, too?” I know that’s probably rude, but I’m genuinely curious.
He shrugs. “You get what you pay for.” He answers my next question before I can ask it. “We’re standing on one of the restorations I did for him.”
I glance up and down the veranda, looking for cracks and peeling paint, but there are none. In the light of day, it’s in beautiful condition. The wrought iron is shiny black, and the crisp white balustrades and railing look as I imagine they did when the house was built.
“That side”—he points to his left—“fell off about three years ago.”
Of course it did. “How much to get someone to check the pipes for leaks? And the electric, just to be on the safe side.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not an electrician or a plumber.”
“Can you suggest someone?” I ask before I remember he isn’t in the suggestion business and I should try the internet.
“Sure.” There’s a heavy crash like someone dropped a part of Great-grandmother’s bed. “I’ll give you some names before I leave,” he says over his shoulder as he walks into the house.
I follow behind him and sneeze only twice as I quickly move to Great-grandfather’s room across the hall. My memories of this room are more vivid than those of other rooms. The furniture isn’t as massive as I recall from childhood memory, but it does conjure visions of Henry VIII. The focal point is the imposing half tester bed with leaping stags carved into the head- and footboards. The half tester is held up with two carved posts and adorned with a big set of antlers.
By the time I was born, Great-grandfather was long dead, and this is the room Mother and I always used when we visited. I remember being terrified that the two posts would snap and the tester would smash me flat in the middle of the night. Or that the antlers would fall off and run me through. Mother used to laugh and tell me stories of when she used to jump and roll all around on the bed as a kid.
That did not reassure me.
This room is the mirror opposite of the one across the hall but is definitely more suited for a man. The walls are covered with faded murals portraying men hunting everything from deer to ducks. Over the black marble fireplace hangs a big painting of a white horse named General, according to the writing on the dusty frame. No portrait of a wife or family. Just a horse.