Echoes in the Walls

The wind tugged at loose shutters and cold wind slithered through a cracked window somewhere upstairs. The snow had finally melted and the ground was saturated from trying to absorb it all. She looked at the two trees in the front yard, comforted that they, at least, were still there and relatively unchanged.

Tiny shoots were timidly pushing through the soggy, brown-green grass, anxious to bloom, but still afraid. The lady shivered as spring rain wept down her windows. The weather had triggered memories, swirling in time with the few leftover leaves from fall. She couldn’t help but think back to the day her last, beloved family had moved away.

What a sad time that had been, and, although several years had slipped by, she felt as if she’d never truly recovered. The beautiful antiques and the oriental rugs had been carefully wrapped and placed into the back of the moving van. Lamps were removed and dishes sat in neat boxes in the kitchen, which had seen many boisterous dinners and holidays. Even the fireplace sat cold from days spent packing instead of relaxing.

She’d spent almost eighteen years with them, watching the children grow, reveling in happiness and being lovingly restored. She’d laughed at the growing list of animals they’d brought home and ensconced in the barns. Silently following behind her family, she listened to the husband and wife as they’d walked through her gracious rooms, remembering Christmases and birthdays. They’d laughed about the day they’d finally finished the stairs and how the children had eagerly slid down each step. They’d looked out windows at the flowerbeds and smart white fences. Tears slipped by unnoticed. They’d held hands, shut off lights and slowly driven away, looking out the car window and waving until they could see her no longer.

She’d been heartsick and anxious over their leaving–wondering who the new residents would be and how they would treat her. “I’m getting too old for this,” she sighed, thinking back over more than a century and suddenly feeling tired.
A few lonely and excruciatingly silent days passed before another moving truck pulled into her driveway. She watched with trepidation as it backed haphazardly across her lawn, crushing the flowers and having little regard for her carefully groomed appearance.

They’d rushed to get their belongings inside, not even stopping to say hello. The rooms, although filled again, did not ring with laughter. As the weeks slid into months, and months into years, she never grew accustomed to the constant bickering between the children, or the vicious arguments flowing out of the master bedroom. The floors were scarred due to furniture being carelessly pushed and shoved into place. Weeds grew where flowers should have been. The children, whom she’d looked forward to, had ruined her walls with scribbling and hideous paint. No one seemed to notice, let alone care.

The years of abuse had seen many of her beautiful accessories destroyed: light fixtures and hickory planks pulled away and sold for profit, new and inferior replacements installed. She wondered if she would ever be the same again. Slowly, she felt herself shift with neglect and crumble with loneliness. She wasn’t ready to give in though, and silently asked, “Is there some chance I’ll stand tall again? Is there someone out there that will love me once more?”

Little could she know that five hundred miles away, the fates were already hard at work, tumbling the gears that would bring a dreamer and a fixer together to make wishes come true. She would need to endure more and wait patiently, but help was definitely on the way.