lovely.’ It truly was – every house on a double lot, each house ten or twelve rooms
at least, each with its carriage drive and carriage house (barn, to us country
jakes). Flower beds, stained-glass fanlights over the doors, all the houses new or
perfectly kept up – from the styles I guessed 1900; I seemed to recall building
going on here the year we came to KC.
‘Twenty years in a pig’s eye, my love; don’t be a pessimist. Let’s pick out ore and
buy it. How about that ore with the Saxon parked at the kerb?’
`Must I take the Saxon, too? I don’t like that door that opens to the rear; a child
could fall out. I prefer that phaeton with the matched blacks.’
‘We’re not buying horses, just houses.’
‘But, Brian, we can’t buy a house on Sunday; the contract would not be legal.’
`We can, my way. We can shake hands on it; then sign papers on Monday.’
`Very well, sir.’ Briney loved games. Whatever they were, I went along with them. He
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was a happy man and he made me happy (in or out of bed).
At the end of the block we crossed over to the east side and continued south. In
front of the third house from the corner he stopped us. ‘Mo, I like the looks of
this ore. It feels like a happy house. Does it to you?’
It looked much like the houses around it, big and comfortable and handsome – and
expensive. Not as inviting as the others, as it seemed to be unoccupied – no porch
furniture, blinds drawn. But I agreed with my husband whenever possible… and it
was no fault of the house that it was unoccupied. If it was.
Tm sure it could be a happy house with the right people in it’
‘Us, for instance?’
`Us, for instance,’ I agreed.
Brian started up the walk toward the house. `I don’t think there is anyone at home.
Let’s see if they left a door unlocked. Or a window.’
`Brian!’
`Peace, woman.’
Willy-nilly, I followed him up the walkway, with a feeling that Mrs Grundy was
staring at me from behind curtains all up and down the block (and learned later that
she was).
Brian tried the door. ‘Locked. Well, let’s fix that’ He reached into his pocket,
took out a key, unlocked the door, held it open for me.
Breathless and frightened, I went in, then was slightly relieved when bare floors
and echoes showed that it was empty. `Brian, what is this? Don’t tease me, please.’
Tm not teasing, Mo. If this house pleases you… it’s my long delayed wedding
present from the groom to the bride. If it does not please you, I’ll sell it’
I broke ore of my roles; I let him see me cry.
Chapter 8 – Seacoast Bohemia
Brian held me and patted my back, then said, ‘Stop that infernal blubbering. Can’t
stand a woman’s tears. Makes me horny.’
I stopped crying and snuggled up close to him. Then my eyes widened. `Goodness! A
real Sunday special.’ Brian maintained that the only effect church had on him was to
arouse his passion, because he never listened to the service; he just thought about
Mother Eve, who (he says) had red hair.
(I did not need to tell him that church had a similar effect on me. Every Sunday
after church a `special’ was likely to happen, once we got the children down for
their naps.)
`Now, now, my lady. Don’t you want to look around your house first?’
‘I wasn’t suggesting anything, Briney. I wouldn’t dare do it here. Somebody might
walk in.’
`Nobody will. Didn’t you notice that I bolted the front door? Maureen… I do
believe that you didn’t believe me when I said that I was giving this house to you.’
I took a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly. ‘My husband, if you tell me that
the sun rises in the west, I will believe you. But I may not understand. And this
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