It didn’t turn easily. She had to work it back and forth and lean into it. Finally the rusted mechanism gave with a loud click. The heavy door opened with a long groan.
Inside, the house smelled stale, damp, moldy—and something else. Something sweet in a way that wasn’t pleasant. Lydia wrinkled her nose, then stepped in anyway.
Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness. Thin strips of daylight came through the cracks around the boards on the windows. Dust hung in the still air, drifting through those narrow beams.
The main room was nearly empty. Against one wall stood an iron bed with a sagging wire frame. On it lay an old mattress yellowed with age.
In the corner sat a wooden table under a thick layer of dust. Beside it were two high-backed chairs and a crooked wardrobe with one door hanging loose. Rag rugs with faded patterns lay on the floor, worn through in places.
Lydia looked around carefully and moved on. The kitchen was small but had a huge woodstove that took up nearly half the room. The whitewash had flaked off, exposing the red brick underneath.
A rusty sink looked discouraging, and the faucet hung by one screw. There clearly had never been running water in the house. That meant hauling water from the well outside—if the well still worked.
The mudroom had a cold dirt floor. In a small pantry with wooden shelves she found empty jars, old rags, and bundles of dried herbs. It smelled strongly of wormwood and something bitter she couldn’t place.
Lydia went back to the main room and managed to pry open the shutter on one window. Sunlight poured in, and the house immediately felt less grim. She set her duffel bag down on the floor.
That was all she had with her: a few clothes, some basic groceries, and a thermos of tea. Everything else belonged to the life she had left behind. She took another long look at her new place.
Yes, the house needed a tremendous amount of work. But it was hers. The first home she had ever owned in her life. And she had no intention of giving up.
Lydia started with a full cleanout, hauling years of junk outside. She threw away old rags, broken glass jars, and rotten boards. Then she swept the floor with an old broom she found in the mudroom.
Dust rose in a thick cloud and settled right back down, so she had to sweep several times. After that she tackled the windows. The water in the bucket turned black almost immediately.
She changed it five times before the glass finally began to shine. To her great relief, the well in the yard still worked. The water was clean and ice-cold, with a slight iron taste.
She filled several buckets and set them in the cool mudroom. Toward evening she decided to try lighting the stove. Since there was no cut firewood, she had to break apart part of the old shed.
The boards were dry and caught quickly. The stove came alive with a steady, comforting crackle. Little by little, the house filled with welcome warmth.
By dusk Lydia had finished the main part of the cleanup. The place looked much cleaner and brighter. She spread out her sleeping bag on the bed, since the old mattress was beyond saving….
