Sunday Scribblings: Soul of a House

A young couple in their early thirties, Brittany and Jay, stepped out of their realtor’s Suburban. The realtor, an auburn haired woman of approximately the same age grinned toothily at them and said ‘I think this might be the one’. The comment caused the couple to exchange an eager glance.

They stepped onto the newly stained wrap-around deck. The boards creaked just enough to remind them that they were about to view a century old house. Each separately wondered who had lived there during the ups and downs of the last hundred years.

The realtor rapped on the door with three squarely landed knocks. ‘A precaution’ she unnecessarily whispered to the couple. When there came no answer, she fished through her purse for the key that would allow their entry. While searching, there came a noise inside. A hand flicked the small valance that spread across the top window of the door, briefly revealing two darting green eyes. The lock was disengaged and there stood before the surprised trio an older gentleman dressed in a blood red plaid shirt and jeans.

‘Good afternoon’ he welcomed them with an odd lilt. ‘Please enter this house of wonder. You can call me Fred.’ The trio entered. He began again, ‘Please take a look around. This house is mostly inviting. And you’ve not had any ill effect as far as I can tell.’

The couple thought the gentleman’s words a bit odd, but made nothing of it. Instead, they separated and ventured through the house. Jay ascended the narrow staircase while Brittany descended into the basement. The realtor lingered in the front hallway attempting – and failing – to make small talk with the gentleman.

After about ten minutes, the couple passed each other on their way to opposite ends of the house. They grinned like fools as they encountered one another. And after another ten minutes they met back with the realtor and older gentleman in the dining room area. They smiled the smiles of people who thought they had found the house of their dreams.

‘So, I see you enjoy this house, dear friends’ the gentleman spoke with heartfelt mirth.

‘Yep’ Jay claimed. ‘I think this is the house’.

‘I love it too, but just a few questions. Why is the bathroom floor wet upstairs? And I thought there was a washer and dryer downstairs,’ said Brittany.

Jay turned to her, puzzled. ‘Honey, I saw both the washer and dryer. And I didn’t see any water on the bathroom floor.’

‘Perhaps you best check again,’ advised the gentleman.

This time, the couple both checked the bathroom for signs of water and the basement for the washer and dryer. No water in the bathroom. And both a washer and dryer in the basement. They returned to the first floor and told the gentleman what they had found.

‘I’m not crazy’ Brittany exclaimed.

Before Jay had a chance to answer, the gentleman said, ‘Ah yes, well there you have it. Miss’ he spoke to the realtor ‘can you please step outside?’ The realtor, taken aback, looked to Jay and Brittany for further instruction.

‘Perhaps you should step outside’ Jay answered. ‘I’d like to hear what he has to say.’

When she had left, the gentleman closed the door and inquired, ‘Might I ask your political affiliation?’

‘What?’ they replied in unison.

‘Your political affiliation. Are you Whigs, Federalists, Independents? Or do you lean towards the presently popular Democratic or Republican parties?’

‘What does this have to do with this house?’ Brittany demanded.

‘For the span of 75 years, there lived in this house a woman diminutive in stature but not in purpose. She – a Republican of the highest quality – injected this house with her very soul. And who would not after three quarters of a century? She died at 99 years and 9 months just 15 years ago. And it is said that this house still carries her soul. In these past 15 years, there have lived here a family of Republicans who lived well and loved this house. There came after that family a woman of Democratic leaning who has gone bankrupt and lost her husband. Though I know it sounds absurd, I do recommend that you lean Republican if you wish to live here. And so, I ask again, what are your political leanings?’

The couple, not knowing whether to believe the gentleman, chuckled a tad. But seeing that the gentleman had not even a smile on his face, they decided to answer his question.

‘I am a Republican,’ admitted Jay.

‘And I’m a Democrat,’ declared Brittany, her chest swelled to prideful admittance.

‘Thus are the oddities explained,’ the gentleman answered with a smile. ‘Might I ask you, young lady, your champion in that party?’

‘This is ridiculous,’ she answered. ‘My hero, if you care to know, is John F. Kennedy.’

The gentleman sighed. ‘It is possible that you might live well here as you did not mention that man whom she despised the most. But I suggest if it is your wish to live here that you leave important decisions regarding this house to your husband.’

‘This is ridiculous. Jay, let’s go.’

They turned to go, but Jay – an inquisitive soul – stalled at the door and asked, ‘Who did she despise?’

‘The only president to have served three full terms. Excuse me, but I dare not say his name.’

‘Franklin Roosevelt?’ Brittany said.

And at that name, there came a sound like shattering glass from within the house. The couple hurried out the door and just about sprinted off the deck. The Suburban peeled out of the driveway. And the gentleman smiled at his grandmother's expected reaction.