Robert Doyle looked at the mansion. It had taken several years to build, and it had cost hundreds more than expected. Still, in Robert's eyes, it was perfect. A stout rectangular building, practical yet handsome, with two chimneys. He had opted for stone block. The sturdy mansion would pass to his heirs, the heirs of his heirs, and so on.
The landscape around the building was still littered with building items and material cast offs. No matter, Robert thought, the gardeners would be there in a few days. He imagined the numerous gardens that visitors would be able to see stretching out behind the mansion, like many additional colorful rooms. Children would play there, and there would be a lawn for croquet.
The drive leading to the mansion was uneven and bumpy, and an old cart was parked haphazardly in front. No matter. Soon there would be a smooth circular gravel drive, wide enough for three carriages. Flowers and shrubbery would line the approach, and Robert was considering getting an Italian fountain.
Robert walked into the grand foyer. His boots knocked against the marble floor and echoed around the room. The foyer was not yet decorated, but Robert had already selected the artwork and furniture. The carved wooden staircase rose off to the right, leading to the second floor and third floors.
Robert walked straight through the foyer, past the various doorways that led into the living spaces, and out the back door where the gardens would be planted. From here, he could see the fields that lay beyond his land and the distant river. Robert thanked that river, for without it he would not have gotten such a good deal on the property. Some fool of a surveyor had determined that the river would soon change course, due to a dam built many, many miles downstream. Codswallop, in Robert’s opinion.
The next day, the landscapers and a load of gravel for the drive arrived. Boxes of home goods were delivered a few days later, and Robert sent several servants to the mansion to begin setting it up. Robert spent many hours in his office dreaming of what the property would look like when it was ready for habitation, the parties he would host, and how it would certainly attract the right sort of wife.
The next time Robert visited the property, the grounds were littered with discarded burlap and unplanted trees. The mansion itself was in disarray, with empty boxes strewn about and furniture in the wrong place. No matter. The gardeners and the servants would set things right soon enough.
Robert walked out back, into the half-completed gardens. He had instructed the gardeners to be mindful of the view, especially when planting the trees. Robert was pleased that they had followed his instructions. He could still see the fields, where several cows were grazing, as well as the river glistening happily in the sunlight. Robert took a deep breath of the air, which was much cleaner that the air in town. He already felt at home.
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In September, Robert moved in. The ride into town was long, but no matter. There was room to move. Robert planned a large dinner party for the end of the month. He hoped that the leaves would cooperate and be the perfect shades of bright red and gold.
Roberts guests received tasteful invitations to the dinner, and every single person RSVP'd in the affirmative. Rumors about the house were the main draw for the guests.
“Who is this Robert Doyle chap from Golden Fields?” one invitee asked his wife.
“The man that built that expensive house by the river,” the wife explained. “The house that will be underwater soon.”
The day of the party arrived, and Robert spent the entire morning overseeing preparations. Robert felt that if you wanted things done right, you must do them yourself. Or at least directly oversee the person doing the things you want done.
