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Oh, how she missed Aunt Jean.
“I’ve gotten a lot done over the past year, including an unbelievable amount of paperwork to make sure I have all the right permits and licenses. I’ve been able to do that end of things myself. On the physical repairs, I’ve worked on what I can, but it needs a lot more. Much more than I can afford to give, really.” The sooner she got it up and running, the better. “My goal is to have the downstairs looking sharp by Christmas, which will be”—hopefully, and depending upon him—“the grand opening of Hamilton House Bed and Breakfast.”
She loved saying the name out loud. It made her dream seem more real. Aunt Jean’s dream.
“As the bed and breakfast takes off, I’ll do renovations to the upstairs rooms and get them rent-ready.”
Renovations that would include replacing furniture her aunt had sold off over the years for financial reasons. Sarah had found a ledger in which her aunt had kept records of each piece and who she’d sold it to. An antique store in Louisville had purchased most of the pieces initially, but over the last few years her aunt had sold only to an entry marked as “B.”
Sarah’s heart ached at the permanent loss of the lovely antique pieces her aunt had once owned. Antiques Sarah had treasured and that had been a part of her childhood. Pretending she was mistress of the house, she would go from room to room imagining that she was hosting elaborate dinner parties and balls. She could vividly recall the grandeur of each room—the lavish decor, the tapestries on the walls, the rich woods of the sturdy furniture.
Once upon a time, Hamilton House, as she’d dubbed it as a child, had been a gorgeous home that could’ve been snatched straight out of a movie. Unfortunately, Roy Hamilton had gone to serve in the Vietnam War and had never come back. He’d left his teen bride in his family home with his elderly parents, a well-to-do couple who’d lived with Aunt Jean until their passing. He’d left his young widow well-off financially by 1960s standards, to the point where she’d never had to work. But neither one of them could have predicted the twists and turns of the financial market, or how that would impact Jean’s situation. As the years had passed, so had the money, apparently.
Sarah hadn’t known about her aunt’s poor finances in her latter days. How could she have, when it had been years since she’d had reason to go into any of the four second-level bedrooms while visi
ting her aunt? She’d had no idea her aunt had been emptying one room after another, each slowly stripped of its treasures. How it must have pained Aunt Jean to let each piece go. If Sarah had known, she’d have taken on another job or moved in and paid rent.
Something. Anything.
“The roof looks new, too,” Bodie said, calling Sarah’s attention back to him.
“I replaced it this past spring.” It was the first thing she’d done after getting her loan. “As a matter of necessity. Apparently, there had been a slow leak for years.” The memory had her stomach dropping. That the wood beneath the roof was so rotted had been a big blow. “There was so much damage that they had to rip out and replace a section of beams and wood in the attic ceiling, too.”
She glanced up at the new roof that topped the mint-green house with its intricate white trim work.
“Fortunately, the interior damage from the leak was limited to a section in the attic.”
She’d had to toss a few boxes of old books, receipts, and papers that had been water-damaged. Someday, Sarah planned to go through the remaining boxes and trunks in the attic in hopes of finding things that had belonged to Aunt Jean or to Sarah’s grandparents. Once she got the downstairs restored to its former glory and Hamilton House was up and running, then she’d make time for going through taped-up boxes with layers of dust on top.
Sarah pointed to the porch that wrapped around one side of the house. “You ready to have a look inside? There’s a lot to be done before I open up the house to visitors.”
They made their way up the porch, Harry at Bodie’s side.
“If you don’t think he’ll bother anything, Harry can come in,” she offered. It was chilly outside, and Harry was so well-behaved, she couldn’t imagine him causing trouble.
Bodie nodded. “He can wait inside the door.” After they followed Sarah inside, he paused and looked at the dog. “Stay.”
After only a moment’s obvious disappointment, Harry laid down on the rug, looking up at his owner with obedient, loving eyes.
Bodie glanced around the foyer of Hamilton House. He took in the curve near the top of the staircase with its beautiful walnut handrail and top-to-bottom antique runner down the center of the wooden steps, the gleaming hardwood floor, and the ornately trimmed ceiling with its decades-old chandelier. His gaze paused at the three photos on the stair wall—a black and white of Uncle Roy’s parents at their wedding, a black and white of Aunt Jean and Uncle Roy on their wedding day, and one of Sarah as a snaggle-toothed little girl. Sarah had complained that the photo needed to be updated, but Aunt Jean had insisted she could only replace it with a black and white wedding photo.
That goofy picture would probably be there as long as the house stood.
The foyer was the showpiece of the house. Always had been. Pride filled Sarah as she watched Bodie’s eyes fill with appreciation of the room.
An appreciation she hoped each guest would feel when they visited Hamilton House.
“I had the floors redone and the paint freshened,” she said, unable to hold in her excitement, “but otherwise, this is how this room has looked since the house was first built.”
Even when her aunt’s financial situation had worsened, she’d kept this room pristine, knowing that it was the first thing a visitor would see and that it would shape their opinion of the house. It was also the threshold Aunt Jean’s beloved groom had once carried her over the first time she’d entered the house as his wife.
“Well, except for the light fixture,” she corrected, eying the intricate metal and crystal chandelier. “I know it’s old, but I’m not positive it’s the original fixture or if it was added at some point. And obviously, the photos are newer additions. But otherwise, this is Hamilton House as it should be.” She spread her arms and slowly turned. “This is what I want to restore the rest of the house to.”
Chapter Three
Feeling as if he shouldn’t touch anything—and maybe that he shouldn’t even be inside the house—Bodie took in each room.
No doubt, Hamilton House had been a showplace in its day, and Sarah was intent on returning it to its former glory. Her pride and love for the place oozed from every pore. The fact that she belonged here did, too.
