* * *
The house was as Irv had described: rambling. It appeared to have been broken apart at one point and pieced back together incorrectly. Even more uniquely, it backed up to a sheer wall of limestone.
But it was actually better than Laurel had expected. “Can we see inside?”
Irv wasn’t completely sold on the idea of moving into town, but he turned off the truck’s motor, grumbling, “Landlord said he’d leave the key under the porch in a sardine tin.”
They found the key. The front door’s hinges screeched when Irv pushed it open. The interior smelled like mildew with an undertone of dead mouse, but Laurel reasoned that if the front windows were open, the southerly breeze would dispel the odor.
Flanking the central hallway were a parlor to the left and a staircase to the right. Laurel stepped into the parlor. The wallpaper was shabby and stained, but it had tall windows and a pretty Victorian carved wood spandrel that demarcated the parlor from the dining room. A door on the far side of it led into the kitchen.
“The icebox is the old-fashioned kind,” Irv said. “You’d have to have ice delivered. But the stove’s electric.” Gesturing to the rusty faucets in the sink, he added, “It’s tapped into the city water. You won’t have to pump no more.”
“Is there a bathroom?”
Irv led her to it. Obviously a late addition, it was tucked under the staircase. The fixtures needed a good scouring, but she was delirious at the thought of no longer having to use an outhouse.
“Upstairs?”
“Two bedrooms and a sleeping porch. Some of these steps are rotted, so be careful.”
The front bedroom faced south. Sunlight shone through the dirty windows, from which she could see the tallest buildings of downtown. Having been isolated for months, the thought of having a view of nearby civilization was comforting. She could make this a pleasant room for Pearl and her to share.
The sleeping porch was a screened-in, long and narrow space. She would have to think on how best to utilize it.
Beyond it was a small, claustrophobic room that had only one east-facing window. The ceiling slanted downward to meet the far wall. “This’ll do me fine,” Irv said. “I don’t require much space.”
“But you’ll have to climb the stairs,” Laurel said. “That won’t be good for your hip. I have a better idea.”
She led him back downstairs and into the kitchen. “Build a wall on this end of the kitchen to enclose the keeping room. It has a window. It would easily convert into a bedroom.”
He scowled. “Where’d you get that notion?”
“From you. You shouldn’t have lied about dividing one room into two for a family from Waco.”
He swore under his breath, but Laurel could tell that the idea appealed to him. The new room would give him access to the rest of the house without having to use the stairs. The back door leading from the kitchen to the outside would also enable him to come and go freely.
She pointed that out to him, then stood by waiting hopefully as he mulled it over. For an eternity. “If it’s a matter of money—”
“It ain’t.”
“I plan to pitch in.”
“I told you, I ain’t destitute.”
“I still have my money.”
“Keep it. I owe you this.”
“How so?”
“It was my boy who skipped out on you.”
Whenever the subject of money came up, they argued, and Irv was cranky for days after. She supposed it was a blow to his pride for her to question him about finances.
But she suspected his obstinance on the matter went deeper than that. The guilt he felt over leaving Derby in an orphanage weighed even more heavily on him since the suicide. It was too late for him to make restitution to his son. Instead, he had dedicated himself to taking care of Pearl and her.
She was strongly opposed to the idea of being accountable or indebted to anyone, even to her well-meaning father-in-law, but she didn’t want to scotch renting the house by quarreling with him now. “When can we move in?”