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The Whispering Sentinel

By Ruth Kyser

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"You did what?"
Sandy looked across the desk at her friend, Rachel Foster, and tried not to laugh at the expression on Rachel's face.
"I bought a house."
The other young woman pulled her desk chair closer. "Really? That's so exciting! Where is it--in the 'burbs of Sylvania? Or did you actually find something here in Toledo you could afford?"
Sandy didn't say anything for a moment. Rachel was going to be even more shocked by her answer to that question than to her initial news. She was having a difficult time believing where the house was located too. Sandy had never done anything this unpredictable before.
"I bought my grandmother's old house."
The seconds ticked by and Sandy could almost hear the wheels turning as she waited for her friend to process what she had just told her.
"I know what you're going to say...." Sandy began before Rachel interrupted.
"Your Grandma Baker's old house? Didn't you tell me she lived somewhere on a farm up in Michigan?"
Instead of responding, Sandy sat quietly and watched Rachel's face.
"You didn't!"
Sandy finally gave a little nod, but knew by the look on the other woman's face, she wasn't happy with her.
"When I was back in Bradford Mills settling my dad's estate, I drove by Grandma's old place and noticed a realtors' sign in the yard. I called their office and made an appointment to go see it, and once I did..."
"Are you crazy, Sandy? What are you going to do with an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere?"
Sandy didn't have an answer--at least not one Rachel was going to like. She tried to keep her voice composed.
"As a matter of fact, I'm going to live there. I've given notice on my apartment, and I'm moving to the house in two weeks, right after I sign the paperwork. It was a bank re-possession, so I got it at a great price and will get immediate possession."
It was silent in the room for a moment as Rachel continued to stare at her, a glazed look frozen on her face. Sandy almost jumped out of her chair when the phone on her friend's desk rang. Rachel turned to answer it and Sandy almost felt guilty at how thankful she was for the interruption. She had known her best friend wasn't going to be happy with this move, but she had hoped Rachel would understand her need for a major change in her life.
As she waited for Rachel to wrap up the phone call, Sandy glanced down at her wrist-watch. She needed to get going. She'd already stayed longer than she'd planned. It was supposed to be a brief stop by Rachel's office to share her news, and the last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize her friend's job. Sandy had recently lost her own job as a marking executive, and she didn't want anyone else to share the same fate.
She watched the other woman handle the party on the other end of the phone call with her typical panache. Rachel never failed to amaze her. She could handle the toughest client with kid gloves and when all was said and done, they usually decided to go with whatever she suggested.
She had Rachel met right out of college, and had even shared an apartment for a short time. Rachel was Sandy's opposite in coloring. Whereas Sandy had red curly, out-of-control hair, and freckles sprinkled across her nose, Rachel had flawless skin with straight blond hair, cut into layers at the chin. Her blue eyes sparkled as she looked out on the world around her, and Sandy loved the fact that Rachel could usually make her laugh no matter how bad things were in her life. And for the past month or so, things had been bad--really bad.
Rachel finished her phone conversation and hung up the phone, then turned to face Sandy again.
"Aren't you being a little irrational about all this?"
Sandy laughed a little at the look of dismay on Rachel's face, and then sobered as she realized how much this had shaken her friend. She had known all along Rachel would be upset with her moving away and she didn't want to make light of her feelings.
"Why do you think I'm being irrational?"
Even though they sat in a small private office where no one could overhear, Rachel moved closer and lowered her voice. "I mean, first your fiance breaks off your engagement right before you send out the wedding invitations. Then you lose your job, right after you dad dies. I guess you acting this way shouldn't be surprising. It sounds as if you're trying to recapture the safety and innocence of your childhood by 'running away to Grandma's house'."
Sandy chuckled, although she wondered how close Rachel was to the truth of what was going on in her head.
"Since when did you hang out a shingle, Miss Psychiatrist?" She shook her head firmly. "Rachel, it has nothing to do with any of that. I just..." Sandy struggled as she tried to clarify her thoughts. There was no way she could adequately explain her need for something different at this juncture of her life--a change, a fresh beginning. The recent happenings in her life had left her feeling overwhelmingly crushed. Hopefully this move would give her a fresh start.
"It's not difficult to understand. The house was for sale at the right price; I need to find a new job anyway, so why not move and start over?"
"I still think you're making a terrible mistake, Sandy." Rachel shook her head again firmly, and then reached out to pull Sandy into a hug. "Besides, I'll miss you something awful! I can't believe you're doing this!"

*******
Two weeks later Sandy's thoughts returned to her conservation with Rachel as she watched the two men from the moving company she'd hired unload the last of her furniture and boxes. She surveyed the disorder around her and wondered if perhaps her friend had been right. Maybe she was crazy to make this move. But after everything she'd been through recently, the first time she'd walked through the big old oak door of the house with the realtor, she had felt like she was coming home. And she had been honest with her friend when she had told her she needed a new start for her life.
True--it wasn't the fresh beginning she'd envisioned a month and a half earlier. Back then she'd been busy addressing wedding invitations and looking for a good caterer. Then her fiance, Mitch, had halted all the wedding plans with the simple words:
I'm not sure we're ready for a step this serious, Sandy.
Maybe he hadn't been, but she had. She'd been ready since their first date. Mitchell Write was what she'd always fantasized her husband would be--a top executive in a large corporation; tall and athletic, with brilliant blue eyes and blond hair; a graduate of Ohio State University, and currently working on his Master's degree. Socially, he was involved in a number of non-profit foundations and, even though he liked to let everyone know how good a person he was because of it, Sandy had thought he was a great guy--until her eyes had been opened and she had seen him for the man he was.
She'd been in shock when he expressed his desire to call off the wedding. "Postpone" was the word he'd used, but Sandy had clearly heard what he wasn't saying. After three years together, Mitch had changed his mind and didn't want to marry her after all.
So, she'd put the stack of partially addressed invitations in a cardboard box, sealed the top firmly with packaging tape, and marked it "Wedding Invites', then wedged it in the back of her bedroom closet, and desperately tried to forget it had ever existed. She had discovered the box when she had been packing for her move and had brought it with her, although she didn't know why. She should have thrown the box in the nearest trash bin. It didn't matter anymore though. That part of her life was behind her and she was starting a new life--or maybe a new old life. She had come full circle and returned to the place of her childhood.
When Sandy had made the trip back to Bradford Mills to pack up her dad's old house and settle his estate, it had seemed nature to drive past all her old haunts--the high school where she had graduated, the small white frame church where the family had attended weekly worship services; the house where she and her parents had lived; the bank where her Dad had been branch manager for year until his retirement; and her mom's parents' two-story farmhouse--although to Sandy it had always been referred to as 'Grandma's house' since her grandfather had passed away many years before she was born.
The newer version of the old Victorian style farmhouse looked somewhat different from the house in her memories though. Old painted clapboard siding had been replaced with bright white vinyl siding. The wide covered front porch, with its white rails, turned posts, and little spots of gingerbread trim in the upper corners near the eaves, had been freshly painted. And the white wooden porch swing, where Sandy had spent hours reading the old classics and watching the world go by, was no longer there. The pink old fashioned roses climbing up the trellis at the end of the porch were also gone. Some of the old trees around the place were vanished as well, along with the old red hip roofed barn, the silo, and the chicken coop.
It hadn't surprised Sandy to discover how much the house had changed over the past eight years. She was different, so why wouldn't the house have changed too? But thankfully, Sandy's favorite old pine tree still remained--standing straight and tall in the yard, not far from the house's front porch steps. And the place still looked familiar enough there had been a tug on her heart to see it again, especially when she had driven by and seen the 'for sale' sign in the front yard. She had pulled the car over to the side of the road and quickly scribbled down the name and phone number of the realtor on a piece of paper she dug out of the bottom of her purse. Still parked out front, she'd called the realtor's office from her cell phone and the next thing she knew she was doing a walk-through with the real estate agent and standing in the kitchen of the old house. It wasn't the same outdated kitchen of her childhood, by any means. The old pale-blue painted wooden cupboards filled with her grandma's Blue Willow dishes were gone, and the cast iron wood-burning cook stove had been replaced with a state-of-the-art stainless steel gas stove. The countertops were granite, and beautiful oak cupboards now covered the walls. But Sandy still felt the familiarity of the place when she stood at the kitchen sink and looked out the window toward the back yard. She could almost hear Grandma reminding her to get busy and wash those dishes before the soapy water in the sink got cold.
Sandy and the real estate agency had worked out a deal with the bank--the same one her father had worked for all those years ago. The bank agreed to sell her parents' house in town, and she'd take over this house and make the small monthly payments required by the bank. Her dad's house was worth much more than this one, so when it sold she would be able to pay off this house's mortgage and still have money left over to do some of the work needed. She was optimistic her parents' house would sell quickly since it was a newer style ranch home in a popular neighborhood in town. The realtor had assured her, even in a tough housing market, it wouldn't take long to sell. Whether it was true or not, Sandy was banking on it.
So, here she was.
Sandy stood at the front bay window and watched the moving van pull out of the driveway, then glanced behind her to see all her earthly possessions scattered throughout the house. She felt her gray striped cat, Boots, rub against her legs as he walked circles around her. Sandy leaned down and scooped up the old cat and snuggled him against her chest, gaining comfort as she heard his gentle purr. She'd had Boots for four and a half years, and he had already been an old cat when she had found him at the humane society and fell in love. The name fit him perfectly because of his four white paws.
Mitch had barely tolerated the cat, and the feeling from Boots toward her former fiance had been similar. Now it was just her and the cat, and that was fine with her. As Sandy put the cat back on the floor, she watched him saunter from the room, sure he was about to do some investigating of his own in this new place.
Likewise, she turned and slowly strolled through the rooms of the old house, one by one. It soon became evident to her what had more than comfortably filled an apartment was not going to fill a house. There were going to be some empty spots in several of the rooms until she found the time and the money to get additional furniture. Maybe she'd have to hit some garage and estate sales this summer.
She took a deep breath and started to dig into boxes in the kitchen, unpacking most of them first so at least she'd be able to find food and dishes for eating meals. When she was interrupted in her work by the growling of her stomach, she made an evening meal out of a bowl of soup and some crackers. She cleaned up the dirty dishes and made a mental note to make time the next day to go into town for groceries as the refrigerator was pretty bare.
After her brief meal, she returned to unpacking boxes and tried to decide what piece of furniture should go where. The house wasn't hugs but had more than enough room for her.
There was good sized living room and another room downstairs off the living room she planned to use for her office. It needed repainting and some other work done on it first, so she decided in the meantime, a corner of the living room would have to do for her computer desk and tall wooden bookshelves. Upstairs were four bedroom. Once she had the money to do so, she had plans to convert the smallest one into an upstairs bathroom.
In the middle of unpacking a box of books, Sandy glanced out the window and noticed it was getting dark. She groaned as she remembered her bed frame lay in pieces on the floor in the bedroom at the top of the open stairway. She looked around and realized she didn't have a clue which box held her bed sheets and blankets.
She found Boots and put him in the laundry room off the kitchen with his food and water, and he quickly curled up on his blanket in the corner of the room and appeared to be quite content with his new surroundings. Eventually the cat would have the run of the house, but for the first few nights until Sandy knew all her stuff was unpacked and put away, Boots was going to have to stay someplace where she knew hew as safe. Closing the laundry room door behind her, Sandy heaved a weary sigh and decided the living room sofa would have to do for her bed tonight. Still wearing her grubby sweats, she found her pillow, pulled an old quilt over her, and curled up on the sofa.
Within minutes, and for the first time in many months, she left the sleep of a small child.

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