“He doesn’t look well,” David said.
“I thought he looked depressed,” Angela said.
“He’s busy,” Kelley admitted. “I’m sure he’s just overworked.”
The group stopped outside Kelley’s office. “Now that we know you are coming,” Kelley said, “is there anything that we can do to help?”
“We’ll have to go look at a few houses,” Angela said. “Who do you suggest we call?”
“Dorothy Weymouth,” Caldwell said.
“He’s right,” Kelley said.
“She’s far and away the best realtor in town,” Caldwell added. “Come back to my office and use my phone.”
A half hour later, the whole family was in Dorothy Weymouth’s office on the second floor of the building across the street from the diner. She was a huge, pleasant woman attired in a shapeless, tent-like dress.
“I have to tell you, I’m impressed,” Dorothy said. Her voice was surprisingly high-pitched for such a large woman. “While you were on your way over here from the hospital, Barton Sherwood called to tell me the bank is eager to help you. Now it doesn’t happen often that the president of the bank calls before I’ve even met the client.
“I’m not sure exactly what your tastes are,” Dorothy said as she began putting photos of properties currently on the market out on her desk. “So you’ll have to help me. Do you think you’d like a white clapboard house in town or an isolated stone farmhouse? What about size? Is that an important consideration? Are you planning any more children?”
Both David and Angela tensed at the question of whether they would have more children. Until Nikki’s birth, neither had suspected they were carriers of the cystic fibrosis gene. It was a reality they could not ignore.
Unaware she’d hit a nerve, Dorothy continued laying out photos of homes, while she maintained a steady monologue.
“Here’s a particularly charming property that’s just come on the market. It’s a beauty.”
Angela caught her breath. She picked up the photo. Nikki tried to look over her shoulder.
“I do like this one,” Angela said. She handed the picture to David. It was a brick, late Georgian or early Federal style home with double bow windows on either side of a central, paneled front door. Fluted white columns held up a pedimented portico over the door. Above the pediment was a large Palladian window.
“That’s one of the oldest brick homes in the area,” Dorothy said. “It was built around 1820.”
“What’s this in the back?” David asked, pointing to the photo.
Dorothy looked. “That’s the old silo,” she said. “Behind the house and connected to it is a barn. You can’t see the barn in that photo because the picture was taken directly in front of the house, down the hill. The property used to be a dairy farm, quite a profitable one, I understand.”
“It’s gorgeous,” Angela said wistfully. “But I’m sure we could never afford it.”
“You could according to what Barton Sherwood told me,” Dorothy said. “Besides, I know that the owner, Clara Hodges, is very eager to sell. I’m sure we could get you a good deal. Anyway, it’s worth a look. Let’s pick four or five others and go see them.”
Cleverly orchestrating the order of the visits, Dorothy left the Hodges house for last. It was located about two and a half miles south of the town center on the crest of a small hill. The nearest house was an eighth of a mile down the road. When they pulled into the driveway, Nikki noticed the frog pond and was immediately sold.
“The pond is not only picturesque,” Dorothy said, “it’s also great for skating in the wintertime.”
Dorothy pulled to a halt between the house and the frog pond and slightly to the side. From there they had a view of the structure with its connected barn. Neither Angela nor David said a word. They were both awed by the home’s noble and imposing character. They now realized that the house was three stories instead of two. They could see four dormers on each side of the pitched slate roof.
“Are you sure Mr. Sherwood thinks we can afford this?” David asked.
“Absolutely,” Dorothy said. “Come on, let’s see the interior.”