Prolific: Farm Life Multiplied

There was a knock on the door, and she shouted, "Come in."

A tall gentleman in a dark suit opened the squeaky screen door and came in. His manner said he'd been there before many times, and he seemed both formal and very much a good person, but I didn't know why I had decided that.

Agnes said, "Welcome, Mr. Tamberlin."

I looked over, and he was waiting for me to stand, obviously, so I did, and we shook hands. Agnes continued, "This is Kevin Farenthold Kuiper. He is the young man I told you about. That's Kuiper with a K, it's K,u,i,p,e,r."

Mr. Tamberlin nodded to her and said, "Indeed," mildly surprised. He turned to me, extended a hand, and said, "Well. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kuiper with a K."

These people were really formal, I thought as we shook. His grip was firm but friendly.

Agnes said, "I've filled in the papers. You will take his fingerprint, I imagine."

"Needs be, ma'am, needs be."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out some cards and an ink pad, and over the next few minutes I laughed and tried to relax as tried to fingerprint me. It turns out it's a skill to press down with just the right pressure, roll just the right way, and get just the right imprint on the cardstock.

He put little stickers over the failed prints so we could redo them. I was fascinated and tried to help and do exactly what he wanted, but it was still hard.

When we were done, he had me sign my name and put my social security number at the bottom.

"Sir. You're done. Mr. Kuiper, you now have joint-tenant ownership of this farm, all the land and structures on it, and every physical object currently on it with the exception of my car and what items today Agnes shall designate to me as otherwise owned. Agnes, do you have any exceptions?"

"No, Mr. Tamberlin. Please make arrangements for my cremation sometime in the next few days. I will go to the hospital with you now."

I freaked out at this, obviously. "You... can't die!?!" I practically shouted. "You just got here... I mean, I just got here! I'm supposed to help you!"

She looked at me, some pain in her features but also a kindly expression. "Kevin. You own this farm now. I've decided. You are a good person, and I'm leaving it to you. I have an illness, and it's bad. If I'm correct, I feel an attack coming on, and it won't be long after that. You'll have to handle things. It's best if you're calm now and accept this."

My brain was stuck on this word, "Handle?" This was confusing. She'd told me to be calm, though, and I could do that, despite the What The Fuck words that had started flying through my head.. Instead, I tried to think of what owning a farm would be like.

It wasn't easy. I'd never owned much more than a bicycle and some school books.

Helpfully, she paused to let my brain catch up, looking at me with clear eyes but a very deliberate, serious face. I met her gaze.

Agnes had a look that said, Do This, and you did it. At least, that's how it was with me.

She continued, looking at me calmly but with obvious physical pain behind her expression, "I wish to have my ashes scattered over my grave next to Mr. Frugalt, out past the chicken house, you'll see it. I know you'll be respectful. No, I don't have any friends in the area, they're all gone now. There's a book of directions, for everything, in the cupboard. The vehicles are in my name, but Mr. Tamberlin will handle the details. You will let me leave now and object to me no further."

I was seriously upset, but as she said, in the face of her determined manner, there wasn't anything that I could do to stop this lady from doing whatever the hell she wanted.

She managed to stand up again, with some help from Mr. Tamberlin, and he helped her put on a pretty summer-weight lace jacket over her floral dress. They headed for the door, and she grabbed a floppy, wide-brimmed sun hat before walking out.

Mr. Tamberlin took his time, holding her arm tightly and supporting the other side of her body with his other arm. She looked in no shape to be standing, much less walking down the porch stairs.

Calling back from the walkway, she told me, "Stay in this house and contact no one until I return in whatever form, Kevin. Then, you have your instructions."

Suddenly, I could not move from where I was, right at the screen door looking out.

I could move away from the door, but any move towards it and I got all weak and worried and afraid, and then, finally, distracted. I couldn't go out.

Something was afoot, some kind of magic. At first, it felt odd, but, as I thought about it, it felt better and I decided to not worry about it too much and just do whatever.

Agnes got into Mr. Tamberlin's car and they drove around and out of the lane.

Going to the kitchen window that could see that way, I saw them disappear through the foliage, and then, I was alone in the house, I had nothing to do but wait.

I sat down and considered my options.

It was so, so, so quiet!

There was notebook paper on her shelf, so I sat at the kitchen table and started making careful notes of what had happened, including as many of the words said as possible. I did that sometimes, to help me center myself in confusing situations.

That lasted about an hour before I was completely tapped out of details.

What the hell was I supposed to do now? Wait around forever?

I'd already eaten so I wasn't hungry yet. Looking out the window from the giant kitchen was not going to entertain me. I certainly didn't HAVE to sit there.

I was trapped in the house. So, maybe - I'd look around and play tourist.

What did she mean by, "I have an illness." How could she know she was going to die, just like that? Did old people just know this stuff? I didn't think it worked that way. People didn't just _decide_ to die, or spontaneously predict their demise while they could still walk.

I'd just gotten there!

As much as my logic-brain rebelled at these ideas, my feeling-brain sensed she was right. She'd told me, so, it had to happen, right?

I had to accept what she'd said, even if they didn't quite make sense. Maybe I was confused?

Looking back, YES, I was confused. My logic was right, obviously, people don't know this stuff. What she'd said cut into me like new assumptions. That is, like when you're a kid and someone tells you that no cars can fly. You want them to, you can picture it, but you just know, that's not how cars work, and you accept it.

So, then, on one level, I could assume that I owned the farm, that she wouldn't live long, and that I just had to stay there until she (Her body? Her ashes?) came back.

The tea was still in my brain, maybe, but I couldn't fight what I didn't understand, so I just stood up and looked around.

Might as well play house-tourist.

The main floor had the back door we'd been using, off the kitchen, which opened to an enclosed/covered porch, and then another outside open-air covered porch that linked to the porch of the added-houses alongside.

I knew I couldn't leave the lengthy indoor screened porch, as I'd found, but I could walk around in it. It wrapped past the front of the house, which was huge, and had a variety of wicker, metal, and wood seats and tables scattered along the length.

The porch was also 3-season, and with lowered storm windows it felt stuffy. I opened the long line of those all around (noting they were grimy and hard to see through). The fresh breeze cleared the air and cooled the place down with a sweet smell coming off of whatever vegetation was outside.

The nearer side house wasn't a crappy mobile home, it looked like a large full-fledged one-story house built on a basement, with nice basement-walkout stairs on the back that led off down a garden path to the ripe-fruit-tree-filled front yard.

Walking around the other side of the house to look out that way, I could see (amid distant mildly-screeching insects and through a lot of trees) the lane, and then beside and beyond that the huge garden I'd looked at when I came in earlier that morning.

Beyond that garden there were lines of trees, obviously an orchard. Between the garden and the trees, and mostly behind the shed, were some 2-story-tall open wooden frames. These hung with vines and greenery. Later, it turned out these were arbors for hops and grapes.

I'd seen enough to get that part, so I kept walking.

Back inside, I'd been in most of that - mostly a kitchen/dining/food-prep area. Coming in the screen door, the kitchen and in-kitchen table was to the left, but to the right was a much larger dining room dominated by a 12+ person wooden slab-table and benches, and multiple side-tables with their own chairs, like a cafeteria dining room.

The kitchen proper had a lot of countertop surface, two sinks with stainless-steel countertops beside them. The rest of the countertops were butcher's block that could probably have used some refinishing and had both burn and cut-marks galore.

Straight ahead from the back door was a wide hallway leading to the parlor where I'd slept, but another swinging door led further left. I'd been to the parlor, so I tried the swinging one.

Surprise! Cabinets! Everywhere, Cabinets and shelves! Later I learned the name for it is a 'butler's pantry', but it was also a hub. Two hallways led off. Walking a few steps down the left one, it had a door to a tiny bedroom on one side and a wide wrought-iron spiral stairway upwards on the other.

It occurred to me the spiral stair was wider than normal because someone might want to carry a tray of food up it from the kitchen.

What a life. Have food carried to you upstairs!

With my luck, I'd be the one doing the carrying, and living in that tiny bedroom. Looking, though, it could be worse. There was an old chest of drawers, a high straight-backed chair with cane accents, and a twin bed covered in an ornate hand-stitched embroidered quilt.

The chest of drawers had a blue-china basin and pitcher combo on top. Antique, for sure, and I wouldn't want it around for fear I'd break it.

Coming back to the butler's pantry, the other hallway had several doorways. Two storage closets, one with cleaning stuff (small) and another big one, maybe as big as the kitchen, with shelf after shelf floor to ceiling, mostly empty. I walked in and found some ancient dusty canned goods that had odd old-timey labels.

The next room down as another large room, to the outside of the house, filled with... laundry machines?

The machines looked like they were from a hotel - immense hulking beasts on steel frames. Two washers and two dryers, all labeled "Hobart", big enough for me to crawl in the front. Beside those were some odd-looking thick ironing board things that turned out to be steam presses, and hanging rods full of both wood and wire hangers.

Who has a whole cleaners off their kitchen? In ... a house?

The wall of the laundry room had a wide steel door and a small window that looked out to a concrete pad for a truck to pull up. This was a delivery loading-bay, too, and the overhanging roof connected to the wraparound front porch so it looked like one unit.

If this room got hot, that door would always be open. I'd been in the bar's kitchen below our apartment, I knew how vital an open door was to a hot workplace.

Back out into the hallway, I followed it and found an expanded area with floor-to-high-ceiling fancy drawers and glass-fronted cabinets. The wood fronts looked hand-carved and the lowest eye-level glass-fronted cabinets were gray with dust but full of plates or serving-cookware. I opened a few of the drawers in lower cabinets but they were empty.

The hallway ended in what can best be called a trophy room.

Cases lined two walls, some with dust-covered horseback-riding figurines, but the biggest features were a massive Persian rug that filled the sizable room, and the fact that the ceiling and remaining walls were all deeply beautiful wood panels. Most of the panels had some kind of inlay adornment - figurines and hand-carved bas-relief designs that were strikingly done.

I had to stop and appreciate the beauty. I'd never even seen pictures of a house this fancy. Certainly would be even more beautiful if wasn't covered in dust and age, but... wow.

I walked on, feeling my feet sink slightly into the rug. I wondered what it'd feel like barefoot, but I wasn't going to do that on my first walk-through.

The trophy room was kind of a crossroads.

Four doors came into it - the open hallway I'd come from, another hallway to the kitchen to my right, a double-door to the parlor where I'd slept, and straight ahead, an ornate carved double-door... to a bedroom.

The fancy woodwork carried on into that bedroom, and I wondered how someone could sleep in a room that big. It echoed a little, though there were more Persian rugs, probably because there was so little furniture compared to the floor space.

Above me, the wooden panel ceilings continued and tied into walls with inset panels and chair rails. Even the doors looked like continuations of the wooden walls, off to two walk in closets and a bathroom. I thought, wow, what if someone accidentally shut the bathroom door in the middle of the night, then got lost feeling along for the right wall panel to open to find it again!

On the left wall were two velvet drapes, which I pulled back to reveal windows with comfy-looking pillow-lined window seats. The drapes had metal hold-back hooks, so I tucked those in and wondered what was behind the dirt-encrusted windows.

I didn't dare sit in the window seat (dusty!), but I could kneel walk to open the actual windows and storm windows.

The formerly stuffy room-air immediately blew away, replaced with AMAZING fresh-air country-smelling breezes blowing in! My deep breath literally inspired (origin of the word) a confidence in the home being exactly that - a HOME - and that I could think of it that way.

It's odd, thinking of a house you're just walking into, as a New Home for yourself.

You're imagining your life there, but you're also knowing you're going to remember the imagination you have, later, if and when you move in.

I didn't know for sure that I would be 'moving in', despite intellectually having that sense. It was too 'new' as a concept, even if the building was super-old.

The far opposite wall from the bedroom's entrance door wasn't plain wood paneling though, it was built-in storage cupboards and drawers, floor to ceiling. Since the ceiling was so high, a built-in wooden ladder on a rail could let you climb to the upper ones.

The ladder had dust on the steps, so Agnes obviously hadn't used it in ages.

Who has that many clothes?

I had to look at the woodwork more closely. The carvings were ornate bas-relief with geometric designs and figurines of leaves and nuts, but dust covered a lot of it. Given how old Agnes was, dusting could not have been her priority. Still, the effort to build the place? The expense? It just boggled my mind.

I thought, this place should be a museum, not some normal person's bedroom!

The ensuite bathroom door, surrounded by the drawers, invited me. I had to pee something fierce.

The bathroom was huge - the size of a 2-car garage - and I quickly went to the odd-looking toilet and repaid the lemonade I'd rented, as they say. The flush was a pull-cord attached to a tank mounted high on the wall, something I'd seen in pictures but never in person.

I laughed at pooping 1890's-style, or whenever this house was built. Everybody poops, even long, long ago people.

Everything was so foreign looking, rich and fancy and expensive, but also so not-clean and ancient and almost-decrepit, the contrasts slapped me and I knew I didn't know 'crap' about old fixtures.

The whole bathroom was certainly of the same age as the toilet. White subway tiles with accent lines of black tiles filled the place, though the ceiling looked like it was an embossed metal with white paint over it. Now, don't get me wrong - the tile gave it a clean look, but the grout was black and splotchy in places and it looked like it needed a massive scrubbing.

The shower area, three walls and open on one side with two drains, was stained a light red color, probably from hard water.

Glancing in there, I got a thrill at seeing four shower heads and surface-mounted chrome pipes with a bazillion handles.

(Note: friends of mine and I had decided my freshman year, in a 'War on Meaningless Units', that a bazillion was equal to precisely four.)

The corner held an half-wall, behind which was an obviously new monstrosity that did not belong there. Agnes had apparently had a modern fiberglass jacuzzi tub installed and it contrasted with the rest of the room's fancy fittings. It did have a little dust in it, but not that much and I hoped she'd gotten some use out of it... presuming she... wasn't coming home?

My brain kept rejecting that.

Back in the bedroom, I looked at a large desk and formal-backed chair, but the drawers were empty and I wondered where the bookkeeping happened (of course, Mr. Tamberlin).

There were two sofas, and an easy chair near the corner window.

The only remaining thing was the bed, a larger bed than I'd seen in person, a king sized, with four posts joined by a rectangular frame covered in an ornate, intricate geometric design in silk.

The top rails had another metal rail underneath like a shower curtain rod, obviously for curtains. I'd seen this kinda thing in old-timey movies but never imagined actually sleeping in a bed like that.

Trying to wiggle the bedpost generated zero movement. It felt like concrete, like I was pushing a bank.

The bed's embroidered light quilt that had seen better days, but had super-intricate needlework on it. It wasn't threadbare - just probably hadn't been cleaned in forever, and I didn't even know if the Hobart stuff would do that. I wasn't going to try, it occurred to me that it was probably fragile and maybe worth a lot of money. Dry cleaners weren't cheap, though.

Something was going to have to happen. Just buying enough window cleaner and paper towels to let light in the house would set me back a month's rent.

I kept going. Coming out of the bedroom, I walked back into the parlor where I'd slept.

I must have been out of it, before, because the room was beyond big. It had to be a third of the house's main floor area, or more. Back to my right walking in, double-doors led to the dining room with the big wood table I'd seen earlier, but I couldn't open the doors, they were stuck.

The floors were marble but covered with more of the Persian carpets, beautiful intricate designs but dull-looking from dust. They needed vacuuming, or more, and I didn't even know if that was a good idea.

I was in college, I wasn't a rug expert. Or, a cleaning expert, and this place? Wow.

Really, looking around, the room could be named, The Library. All of the walls were bookshelves. The window seats had cushions to curl up and read in, and I immediately pictured myself there and comfy. Still, looking around, I wondered - what kind of place has this many books that isn't a municipal library?!?

Looking at it then, I decided that even though it was a library _room_, it really was a lot more like a hotel lobby. Columns separated areas of ceiling, multiple fancy chandeliers (that remained off despite light switches) and even a big grand piano covered in a heavy blanket.

Off at the end, past all the old-timey furniture, was a TV in its own ornately-carved wood-cabinet, probably a genuine antique by itself. I got the feeling Agnes didn't watch a lot of TV.

A radio in its own carved-wood cabinet stood next to the TV. I didn't dare turn them on. Talk about a fire hazard!

Having walked the length of the room, I got to the formal entranceway to the house.

Yay! The front door!