House of Darkness House of Light by Andrea Perron Read Free Book Online Page A

spirit; the pure elation she was experiencing only moments before. Several lines of poetry, pensive words Carolyn memorized in youth, consumed her mind then began escaping her lips. They listened attentively, familiar with the practice as well as their mother’s proclivity for drawing on fine literature during more poignant moments in life. Her tone softened; the reverence in her voice stilled the birdsong and stunned their host. It was as if the garden flowers humbly bowed their blossoms as surrounding stone walls knelt in prayer. Reciting the lines betrayed her melancholy mood:
     
    “And still other brothers and sisters,
    Linking their arms together,
    Walked down the dusty road where once he ran
    And into the deep green valley
    To sit on the stony banks of the stream he loved
    And let the murmuring waters
    Wash over their blood-hot feet with a springing crown of tears.”
     
    Mr. Kenyon leaned back, observing the gentlewoman while she spoke. He was visibly moved by her rendition of the poem with which he was familiar; asking what caused her to recall this particular passage when she’d finished. The children remained respectfully quiet for the duration. They all listened.
    “Look.” Lifting her glass as delicate droplets mournfully descended, “They resemble human tears.” Searching Mr. Kenyon’s moistened brow and soulful eyes for acceptance; she found only sadness akin to her own.
    “It was beautiful, mom: Joseph Langland.” Andrea shared an appreciation.
    “She says poems like that to us all the time.” Nancy directed her comment toward Mr. Kenyon apologetically; apparently the nine-year-old spitfire felt the necessity to expound. Leaping to her feet, hands propped on skinny hips, she made an impatient plea, a rather terse request of her mother. “Can we go back to play in the barn again?” Her precocious stance demanding an equally terse response, if not another form of covert discipline, Nancy was officially bored and everyone knew it; a hard to little miss moment.
    “I do not say poetry, sweetheart. One recites poetry.” Infinitely patient, the mother had to be so, especially with her second-born, condemned as she was to a life of trial by spitfire.
    “No…you say it right out of your head!” This persistent pixie had a point.
    Having been a poet since childhood, becoming the mother of five left no time for writing it though she conceded to sharing whatever her memory retained.
    “Yes. I suppose I do.”
    “You do.” Several spoke in unison.
    The familial interaction completely engaged Mr. Kenyon’s imagination. He listened intently to every word uttered by a bevy of ladies at rest on his lawn. It was obviously his pleasure to do so.
    “So? Can we please go back into the barn now?” It was Nancy again.
    “No, we have to go home soon. It’s getting late.” Carolyn had rendered her verdict. Before Nancy could challenge it again Andrea pulled her sister to the ground, planting the child firmly beside her: Argument over.
    Roger joined his family and host on the front lawn, discreetly thanking Mr. Kenyon for allowing him such an extensive tour of this property without the presence of a realtor. Gratefully, he accepted the last glass of water.
    “Isn’t it great?” Soliciting a response, Carolyn realized Roger could not yet speak for gulping. Nancy followed up on the subject in his hand.
    “Mommy said poetry about it.” Thus, divulging no particular secret to dad.
    “She did, huh? I’m not surprised.” Patting his daughter on the head, Roger asked Mr. Kenyon the next logical question: “Where does this come from?”
    “There’s a spring…over there.” Pointing with pride at a sharply rising hill on the other side of Round Top Road, Mr. Kenyon informed them that half of the two hundred acres was directly across the street. Escorting Roger away from the family, he spoke privately with his prospective buyer. After awhile they rejoined the group; time to bid a fond farewell. Cordially,