I went back to the cedar house in the rain. I had liked it enough in sunshine that I wanted to see it on a less flattering day before making an offer. Sandee, with two e's, met me under an umbrella bearing her brokerage's name.
The gutters worked. The basement was dry, and the porch was even nicer with rain coming down beyond it. The kitchen still felt right. I had a number in mind and was working out how to explain it to Jonathan.
Then, at four, we heard bells from the trees to the south. Handbells. I had taken the little outbuilding there for a garden shed.
“That's the Dunewood Ringers' practice space,” Sandee said. “They're regional champions.” She said there was a lovely story behind it. They rehearse five days a week, and we heard forty minutes of “Carol of the Bells.” It was October.
I had actually joked that a bell choir might turn out to be the trouble with this house. I hadn't thought to ask whether there was one. Sandee was quite ready to tell me more about the championships, but I had heard enough to know I wasn't making an offer.
She has since sent another listing described as “quiet.” The season is almost over, so we may have to leave that one until spring.
— Ash