I take the door to the pantry. The room doesn't seem to be as big as I thought. Must be all the empty shelves and the broken walk-in. I go on through to the hall, where I look into the laundry room. It's a bit smaller than I thought too, especially with that door in the back. The doors to the pantry and laundry don't align. They are off by just a bit. Doesn't really make any sense not to have them line up. I then notice the other door at the end of the hall. It had swung into the hallway beyond. I don't know why I didn't see it before when Sam rushed through. I guess that makes this hall more of a long mudroom or vestibule. Keeps it warmer in the winter, I guess.
I take a left at the hallway, towards the swinging door to the dining room. On the left are two pictures, about where the doors to the pantry and kitchen once were. On the right are two doors. Actually three, but the third door is almost directly across from the other hall that it really doesn't count. Again, the doors don't align for some reason. Nothing too straight. Probably to keeps the drafts down.
The first picture is a watercolor, all grays and white. A bleak winter scene of barren mountainside with leafless trees under a dull, steel grey sky, all rolling with clouds. Dark shadows with hints of blue crawl upon a cold, snowy ground. The only touch of color is a bright red barn, just left of center. It seems to shine in the otherwise empty scene. Behind the barn, a thin trace of smoke rises from a maroon chimney from a farmhouse, just barely scene with its clear white walls. Even though the rest of the world was cold and lifeless, one warm spot remains.
While the second picture is also a watercolor, the subject is totally different. A bright yellow sun shines though a clear and cloudless light blue sky. The hills are full with a thousand shades of green. Flowers in red, orange, yellow, and blue cover the field in the foreground. Hardly a shadow can be seen. Yet, hidden among the wildflowers, a fallen dull grey fence is seen. Its crossbeams rotting and drooping to the dirt. Just beyond the fence, an ashen burnt out barn with a caved-in roof can just be caught. A battered brown house lies behind it, to the right. A summer scene, where nature has taken back what it once lost.
The doors seem unexciting compared to the paintings. The one closest to the dining room is just overflow: extra chairs, folding tables, a serving cart. Most of it is covered in sheets, but no layer of dust. The room is small, but still useful. The next room is larger, but less full. Boxes of what appear to be Christmas decorations line the wall opposite an empty bed frame. This must be one of those "servant quarters" that Carol mentioned. A door to a small closet is in the rear. No windows, of course. The room is too deep inside to have any. How could anyone, why would anyone, want a room without a window? I would feel stuffed, imprisoned. I quickly retreat.
The next door opens onto, a hall? How many halls does this house need? It's fairly short, just another door at the other end, with a picture on the left and a door on the right. This time, the picture is a collage of a garden. Images of flowers from catalogs were cut out and pasted into a mishmash of differing sizes and shapes, fused into an impossible scene. Cut outs of children with their faces blotted out by other things (hats, scarfs, even a large dog) run along without a care. Each one is from a different world, making a scene where size and proportion cannot be determined. Confusion abounds. The picture makes my head hurt.
The first door takes me to a bathroom, not a half-bath but a full bathroom with a tub and shower. This must be where Sam ran off to, although I thought I saw him veer right, not left earlier. Maybe I'm wrong. This must have been built for the servants use. Why else have this on the first floor? I realize that it had been a few hours since I relieved myself. A quick unzip, a few shakes, a flush and I'm done. I wash my hands with the liquid soap, even though I don't need to, and head back out.
I open the last door, and I am back in the entry hall. The bathroom must be under the stairs. My bags are where I left them, in the middle of the floor. The door is varnished in the same color as the walls, effectively hiding it by the stairs. From this angle, I can see the frame where an atrium must have been, an extra layer of protection from the cold. Now, all that is left are small hall closets next to either side, standing without any reason, replacing windows that once looked out onto the porch. I leave my bags safe where they are and go back to the hallway, ready to continue the tour. So far, I can't get a handle on my dad.
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