Apr 26 2009
Past Imperfect
I’m feeling nostalgic on this sunny Sunday afternoon. Maybe it’s knowing that Mike and Jennifer’s little ones are going to be spending the next few days with their Grandpapa while their parents are (hopefully) in Paris. Maybe it’s the roses blooming so extravagantly in my back yard. Maybe it’s just getting older.
Whatever it is, I’ve been thinking of the long-ago days we spent with my mother’s parents. They lived in a grand white Victorian house, which was the town sheriff’s wedding gift to his only daughter. It was built by the same architect as the bride’s father’s house next door, and in both houses, his initials were carved on a beam in the attic.
The attic was a wonderful place, full of boxes and trunks and wardrobes full of ballgowns. In the afternoon, the light would stream through the stained glass windows and paint everything in rainbow colors. You never knew what you would find: great-grandfather’s sleigh bells; his Civil War sword; souvenirs from Nana’s brother’s grand tour of Europe…
Next door to my grandparents’ house was an even grander one, practically a mansion, set in vast, professionally-tended grounds. It was fascinating and mysterious, because its owner, the fabled Mrs. Newton, was never seen. Gardeners kept the outside in perfect order, and groceries were delivered, but they were not taken in until dark.
After dark, you would sometimes see a light moving from room to room, as if Mrs. Newton carried a lamp with her.
My grandmother was regrettably not a gossip, but her two spinster boarders (with the perfect spinster boarder names of Frieda and Maretta) fortunately were. They told me that Mrs. Newton’s son had been killed in WWII, and that she hadn’t left the house since. This seemed wonderfully tragic and Miss Havisham-ish to me at the time, though it never occurred to ask me what had become of Mr. Newton.
Although I don’t know what happened to the sad lady who lived in the mansion, I do know what happened to the mansion. It’s a bed and breakfast. I could go and stay there, right next to my grandparents’ house, and find out who’s living there now. But I think it’s better to let the past stay in the past.