The Family Will See You Now—Darlene Eliot

View from the Rose Garden

This house gave me the willies when I was a kid. I never thought they’d fix it up and sell tickets. Now it’s tour buses, mystery photos, and people asking for directions to the carriage house. I want to say, You’re standing right in front of it. It’s a gift shop now. But they’d rather hear about family curses and fire and horses rearing up. Bev and her crack team of docents came up with those whoppers. By the way, don’t argue with the ladies in sun hats. They make phone calls. Hold on a second, let me tell these folks we’re not open yet.

Stained Glass Double Front Doors

Go ahead, take the tour. It’s good to know what they’re feeding the tourists. When you know the stories, it’s easier to talk people down when they give cockamamie reasons for hiding in the bushes. Turn it around on them. Politely, of course. Then tell them bad things will happen if they stick around. They’ll take a few selfies then clear out. After that, you can lock up this beautiful place. Five doors, five locks, one code, hit the lights and go. Happy family. Happy you. Just stay off the rugs, they’re getting thin. That’s the only thing Bev and I agree on. And it’s the last time you’ll ever hear me say that.

Dining Room & Sitting Room

That chandelier gets a lot of attention. They sell pop-ups in the gift shop. But the showstopper’s in the next room. A showstopper for all the wrong reasons. Watch your step, round the corner and meet the family. All of them. Don’t ask me why they’re headless. That was Bev’s idea. Headless mannequins. Why? There’s a mannequin in the bedroom, too. But that one has a head because Bev wanted the whole outfit. Black hat, feathers, all of it. As if Mrs. Mosley would dress like that. Doesn’t anyone crack a history book? Look at the portraits? Or even ask? 

Second Bedroom

Don’t feel bad, I jumped the first time I saw her, too. Black hat and feathers and a dress so huge it could smother a raft of baby ducks. Did I tell you they wanted a pond out back? That was Brock’s brilliant idea. Part of his bed and breakfast scheme. They wanted ducks and koi like the place where you used to work. But they couldn’t raise the money, so they started making stuff up. Floating hatchets. Fire in the carriage house. Bodies in the grove. Arias in the parlor. The smell of burning biscuits in the kitchen. What a load of hooey. Mr. Mosley doesn’t even like opera, if you want to know the truth. Take Brock’s tour, if you want a good laugh. It’s the longest one and he sings when he walks into the parlor.

The Nursery

They pretty much left this alone, thank goodness. No headless babies or parade hats. They even restored the crib and the rocking chair. But Bev can’t help but mess things up. She likes to stand in the corner, blend in with the wallpaper and scare the hell out of people when they walk in. Aren’t you glad you’ll be in the garden most of the day? It’s a shame, really. Someone should be in here who respects the house and the family. That woman’s lucky they don’t take her seriously. I take it as seriously as a heart attack. That’s why I’m glad someone sensible showed up. I’m sorry about your brother, by the way. I lost my sister back when we rode bikes around this town and, well, that’s a conversation for another time. 

The Dog

The Mosleys are a patient family. They have their limits, but don’t take extreme measures. They like to play tricks. Rearrange furniture before big events. Change clothes on the mannequins. Reposition the mannequins. Sic Henrietta on the flower beds right before fundraisers. Henrietta is the King Charles Spaniel, if you didn’t know. She’s all over the gift shop. Bev loses it when the garden gets torn up. The bad news is you’ll have to fix everything. The good news is Bev will be nicer to you than she’s ever been before. It only lasts a few hours, like a bad case of hives, but it’s better than the alternative. Brock will be nice, too, when the breakfast room fills with oranges or a bunch of them roll down the stairs when he starts his tour.

The Family

I love this house. And I love this family. They’re as patient now as they were in life. And I can tell they already like you. You didn’t bolt when that feather hat flew off or the crib moved. I bet rainstorms won’t even spook you when you do the lock up. If the family likes you, you don’t have to move any furniture back, either. Just grab your earbuds or air pods or whatever they call them now when Bev starts screaming about an estate sale. It’ll never happen. You don’t have to worry about it. And I don’t have to worry about anything except this bum knee and all my appointments. Keep off the rugs. Don’t burn any biscuits. And don’t linger on the porch swing. The family will come to you when they’re ready.

photo by Mike Smith (via unsplash)