Spirit of Gettysburg: Soulmates Across Time

Chapter 10

The early afternoon weather, with March's contrariness, was mellow and warm. She welcomed the soft heat. Craving fresh air, she rolled the window down, breathed deeply and basked in the warmth. Clouds drifted in the sky behind the house, framing it like a nineteenth century Currier and Ives print. Not fancy, rather plain, Cavalry Manor was an ostentatious name for a small farmhouse three stories high.

The wide, navy blue painted, wooden front porch, warped floorboards and peeling, oyster white side railings attested to years of neglect. That puzzled her. Uncle Brucie was rich. Why was the house neglected?

The large windows fascinated her. The upstairs window shades were drawn as if hiding something or keeping the inside and outside worlds separated. The navy blue shutters on the downstairs windows were flaking and askew. The property screamed paint me.

The yard undulated into the South Mountain Range. She loved the space, perfect for planting vegetables. Hopping from the car, she tiptoed up the crumbling flagstone pathway to the front door, carefully avoiding caked mud puddles and the stiff grass growing through the broken mortar and stone cracks.

She climbed the porch steps, inched to the front door with her heart flip-flopping like a trapped flounder, inserted the key and stepped into the front parlor.

Beautiful! Her eyes misted with tears. "Thank you Uncle Brucie."

Where was her husband? She glanced around the room. Not in here. The parlor screamed exquisite taste, old money and subtle warmth from the chrome and silver lamps to the bronze colored, Napa leather, deep seating sofa with several Chenille pillows scattered on it.

Butterscotch colored, Italian silk wallpaper covered the parlor's rear walls. The other walls were painted ripe apricot. A bright, multi-colored rug covered the floor. The room was modern, posh and inviting, not a dark Victorian piece in sight. Cheerful airiness prevailed.

Hands on hips, she soundlessly whistled. Huh, never judge a book by its cover, how true. Outside Cavalry Manor was an old hag. Inside the house was an exquisite jewel. Dirty, though, it needed a good cleaning. As if on que a dust particle army maneuvered in the afternoon sunlight. Juicy spiders hung from the ceiling spinning their webs.

Yuck! She cringed. She loathed spiders.

Ambling to the parlor's fireplace, she traced dust paths on the marble mantel. Quieting her mind, she zeroed in on her psychic impressions but drew a blank. Would her spiritual gifts ever return? She muffled a sigh. They'd return in God's time not her time. Where was her ailing husband? Perhaps he needed a sparkling clean house. Game on. She went to work.

Author's Note: Next Chapters Tuesday!