SimonW
Well-known member
The House On The Lane
Chapter 1: One Hundred and Thirty-First Somerset Drive
There was nothing particularly unusual about the house upon the corner between Somerset Drive and Montane Street, a small cozy suburban house that had one floor above the ground floor that was insulated with brick and mortar foundations and walls during the Winter seasons. The ramshackle tiled roof was stable enough that it could possibly survive another twenty years before being needing a replacement. Two corners of the house was at an angle to the concrete street, displaying two windows upon each siding of the house, dependent on which side of the house you would be facing.
The front corner that curved around the streets was protected by a well maintained lawn that acted as a corner front yard to the quaint property, a cornerstone cobbled pathway leading from the front mesh wire gate to the house snaking up to the patio steps that had a polished wooden small stairway of wood leading up onto the property’s front doorway.
One would say it wasn’t a normal looking house by any means. But it was hardly the fault of anyone that a house like this was built the way it looked, as opposed to the other houses in the neighbourhood that were situated in proper alignment to society’s standards.
As the sun was at it’s zenith in the midday glare of luncheon, the society ladies of known repute sat awkwardly around the living room’s oaken table that was being hosted at this house of lesser known reputation. Their hostess, a Miss Mary Pritchard, seemed unaware to the awkwardness as she struggled mentally to keep up with their way of doing things, having been surprised to be unannounced as hostess to this gathering of slightly older busybody women in the neighbourhood. It was not a surprise, she admitted to herself, that she preferred to remain alone at her home that her parents had recently bequeathed to her after they passed three years ago and she had to give up her city life for a more subdued one in a Suburban town called Richmond.
But, she did admit, she was slightly curious as to why she was finally drawn into this circle of gossip that, on occasion, was a bother to the neighbourhood in question. The matriarch of this gaggle of hens was a Mrs. Audrey Gresto, a burly women dressing above her station that had all the eloquence of a pit bull terrier in heat. But, Mary Pritchard did admire that behind the gruff exterior, there was a deep rooted kindness within those dark brown eyes that was forthright and blunt in the statements Mrs. Gresto blatantly declared as facts.
( to be continued… )
Chapter 1: One Hundred and Thirty-First Somerset Drive
There was nothing particularly unusual about the house upon the corner between Somerset Drive and Montane Street, a small cozy suburban house that had one floor above the ground floor that was insulated with brick and mortar foundations and walls during the Winter seasons. The ramshackle tiled roof was stable enough that it could possibly survive another twenty years before being needing a replacement. Two corners of the house was at an angle to the concrete street, displaying two windows upon each siding of the house, dependent on which side of the house you would be facing.
The front corner that curved around the streets was protected by a well maintained lawn that acted as a corner front yard to the quaint property, a cornerstone cobbled pathway leading from the front mesh wire gate to the house snaking up to the patio steps that had a polished wooden small stairway of wood leading up onto the property’s front doorway.
One would say it wasn’t a normal looking house by any means. But it was hardly the fault of anyone that a house like this was built the way it looked, as opposed to the other houses in the neighbourhood that were situated in proper alignment to society’s standards.
As the sun was at it’s zenith in the midday glare of luncheon, the society ladies of known repute sat awkwardly around the living room’s oaken table that was being hosted at this house of lesser known reputation. Their hostess, a Miss Mary Pritchard, seemed unaware to the awkwardness as she struggled mentally to keep up with their way of doing things, having been surprised to be unannounced as hostess to this gathering of slightly older busybody women in the neighbourhood. It was not a surprise, she admitted to herself, that she preferred to remain alone at her home that her parents had recently bequeathed to her after they passed three years ago and she had to give up her city life for a more subdued one in a Suburban town called Richmond.
But, she did admit, she was slightly curious as to why she was finally drawn into this circle of gossip that, on occasion, was a bother to the neighbourhood in question. The matriarch of this gaggle of hens was a Mrs. Audrey Gresto, a burly women dressing above her station that had all the eloquence of a pit bull terrier in heat. But, Mary Pritchard did admire that behind the gruff exterior, there was a deep rooted kindness within those dark brown eyes that was forthright and blunt in the statements Mrs. Gresto blatantly declared as facts.
( to be continued… )
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