Before I could move in, I had to move all the other things out of the chapel so I could clean the space. It took three days before the room was ready to move things into it again. There were four small pews and an altar of some sort where a worshiper would kneel before a particularly macabre crucifix. A handful of other humble items of worship were piled into boxes for storage, and another few boxes were loaded up with things to toss in the dumpster Jay had delivered to the house.

　　I have to wonder if the chapel was an added-on afterthought or if it actually was a part of the original floorplan. It doesn`t match the rest of the house in construction materials or general style. However, the chapel is a part of the original structure, as in, the home was completed in 1876 with the chapel an already existing feature.

　　And yet it feels like an afterthought.

　　The house was constructed using the finest woods and stone bricks with lots of tall windows. The chapel was built with irregularly shaped and colored rocks haphazardly heaped into walls and held together by a concrete-like mortar. The floors are a more austere and less fashionable wood that creaks loudly and will likely need to be mercilessly sanded down and refinished or replaced entirely before the renovations are through. The chapel protrudes oddly off the back of the house from the end of the hallway right next to the kitchen, and even without anything above it or against any of the three other sides of the small, rectangular floor plan, there is only one circular, partially stained glass window above where the altar sat, too high to look out, no way to open it. The chapel is dank and smells of mildew, and it remains chilly despite the heat of summer for the rocky insulation and its position in the shadow of the house. Despite the house having nine fireplaces, the Sowards didn`t seem to think heat was important for their religious observances, which leads me to the conclusion that perhaps the Sowards only built the chapel in the first place to outwardly display their piousness rather than because they intended to make their religious observance more convenient and accessible.

　　Moving stuff in is its own adventure. The irony of buying a massive mansion is that I`m actually downsizing a lot. My bed with a pile of blankets, an old wooden rocking chair that belonged my grandmother, a simple clothes rack for my pared down wardrobe, a single purse and its contents, a large memory chest that doubles as a bench at the foot of the bed, a new radio, toiletries, and the odd assortment of kitchen supplies are the only things I kept apart from a small portable generator with which to power a mini fridge and charge my phone as needed. Well, all that for my personal creature comfort, but then I also brought the massive collection of tools acquired over many years of home improvement and do-it-yourself projects. Nothing else seemed important enough to keep. It`s strange really. You spend your whole life accumulating stuff, like somehow that is the measure of your existence, but at the end of the day, how much of it is actually worth bothering with? The rest of my stuff was sold or donated, and my old house sold just yesterday, another contract signed. Thank you inflation and gentrification for more than quadrupling the value of that house since I bought it in the late seventies.

　　Without reliable electricity or natural gas to power a stove or oven, I`m down to cooking the old-fashioned way over an open flame. Fortunately, with a home built in the 1870s and minimally remodeled since then, the kitchen is already equipped with a massive fireplace. The walls of the fireplace are a soot-covered, red brick, the hearth is a surface of tiled slate slabs, and the exterior is framed by a wooden mantle that has begun to rot and will need to be replaced. But this was the original oven. The appropriate spits continue to stand on the left side of the fireplace, great metal hooks are still mounted in front of the flue from which to hang a cooking pot or a kettle, and a wood-burning, cast-iron range for frying pans is built into the right half. Is it weird to be excited about such things? Maybe a little. It will certainly be a hassle to cook this way, but I think it will also give me a new connection to and appreciation for the history of the building I`m trying to restore.

　　But tonight is takeout. I don`t do it often, but with the time sensitive nature of renting out a moving truck, it was more urgent to empty the truck than it was to fiddle with archaic cooking apparatuses. Besides, I need to go grocery shopping.

　　Oof! It feels good to lie down. I`m feeling my age and regret not exercising more faithfully in recent years, but I will build up to longer days of harder labor, and I`m quite looking forward to breaking out the sledgehammer later this week. Ah. So much to do. One step at a time.

　　***

　　There is nothing quite so jarring as being woken up by someone knocking on your bedroom door when you live alone. The instant terror is a good way to check your susceptibility for a heart attack.

　　"It`s the police! Open up!"

　　My mind whirls with fresh layers of terror. The police&. Something horrible has happened, I`m being accused of something, or there are imposters outside the door looking to hurt or rob me as soon as I open the door.

　　"Raesport PD! You are trespassing on city property!"

　　Ok. Maybe they just don`t know that the house was purchased last week? "Hi?"

　　"Open up!"

　　But if they aren`t actually police officers? "Sorry, would it be alright if I confirm your presence here with dispatch?"

　　Quiet on the other side of the door, the flickering of moving beams of light at the bottom of the door suggests an animated, silent discussion. "Yes, ma`am. I`m officer Orren Milton, and I`m here with my partner officer Russel Boyd." One of those standard issue cop radios coughs out a jumbled string of static-y speech. "This is Milton. I`m at the old Soward`s place. We found the intruder. She`s wanting to contact dispatch." More choppy muttering. "Alright ma`am. Make your call. We`ll wait."

　　At this point it feels a little silly to call 911, but it`s best to be cautious anyway.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

　　"911, what`s your emergency?"

　　"Hi, yes, I`m the new owner of the Soward`s mansion, and there are two men outside my bedroom door claiming to be cops, and before I open the door to them, I`d like to confirm the presence of officers on the premises."

　　"Uh, yes, ma`am. One moment."

　　Seconds tick by with unnecessary tension. My mind keeps jumping to worst case scenarios: the operator coming back on to say "no, sorry, we don`t have officers there at the moment". "Then please, by all means, send some!!"

　　"Hello, ma`am?"

　　"Yes, I`m here."

　　"Hi, yes. I can confirm that we have officers on site responding to a trespassing call, but you said you`re the new owner of the Soward mansion?"

　　"That`s right. I just moved in yesterday."

　　"We don`t have records showing that the house was sold. It`s a city-held asset."

　　"Well, then it`s a good thing that I have copies of the paperwork right here," I struggle not to snap.

　　"When did you purchase the residence?"

　　"Four days ago."

　　"Hm. It`s possible that it simply hasn`t been updated in the city`s system yet. I`ll let the officers on site know real quick."

　　"Thank you."

　　That officers` radio goes off again. "Yes, we heard this side of the conversation through the door&. Yes, we`ll check&. Yup."

　　"Ma`am, I apologize for the scare. Please show the officers your paperwork, and they will be on their way."

　　"Thank you."

　　"Goodnight."

　　The phone screen flashes as the call disconnects, and I quickly locate a sweater to pull over my pajamas and the folder of documents in question before opening the door. "Hello."

　　"Hello, ma`am. I understand that you recently bought this house?"

　　"That`s right."

　　"Dispatch asked that we check your paperwork."

　　"Yes, I know." He takes the folder from me and quickly locates the relevant information.

　　"You`re Mrs. Evered?"

　　"Lottie."

　　A pause as he checks my first name again, his eyebrows raising in recognition. "Lottie. It`s nice to meet you, though I`m sorry for the circumstances. Everything seems to be in order here," he says, returning my folder to me. "I`m officer Milton. This is officer Boyd." In the dark and with the flashlights in their hands serving as a wobbly backlight, it`s hard to make out their faces. Both of the officers are taller than me, though that`s not saying a whole lot as age has shrunk me down to about five feet and four inches. Their utility vests make them look artificially broad, but they seem nice enough, at least, officer Milton seems friendly enough.

　　"Well, gentlemen, I am quite awake with all this excitement. Would you care to join me for a calming cup of tea?" Their heads turn to look at each other, and officer Boyd shrugs.

　　"I, for one, wouldn`t mind a hot drink. Thank you," Milton agrees on his partner`s behalf, and it occurs to me that I have yet to hear officer Boyd`s voice. Oh well. The stoic and observant type seems like a good make for a police officer.

　　The boys follow me into the kitchen next door. I say "boys", but they are both probably in their thirties or forties- an age that groups them with the generation of my&. Well, the next generation. The officers are thoughtful enough to shine their torches in the direction of the fireplace while I fumble to get the prepared logs burning. It doesn`t take long; the wood is exceedingly dry. I even had a kettle of water and my package of herbal teas ready to go with the morning`s breakfast in mind.

　　"So, Mrs. Evered-"

　　"Lottie."

　　"Sorry, Lottie& erm. Why Soward`s mansion?" officer Milton makes the first attempt at casual conversation.

　　"What do you mean?"

　　"Well, it`s no secret that the place is&"

　　"... a dump?" My tease is successful. Poor Milton is scrambling to qualify the severity of such a descriptor.

　　"I-it`s seen better days, and the renovations needed in this place are extensive."

　　"You can call it what it is, officer. Soward`s mansion, as it currently stands, is a dump, but that is why I bought it. I was looking for a project, and I found one. Soward`s mansion stands at the heart of Raesport`s history, and I would like to see that history once again honored."

　　"It`s a commendable goal to be sure," Milton nods with a renewed casualness. "What do you think, Boyd?"

　　"Mn. I agree." Officer Boyd`s voice is softer and a little higher pitched than I`d expected. Truth be told, I was quite smitten with the romantic notion of a gruff voice for the silent, stoic type. Now my impression is that he`s simply reserved and maybe a little shy& which is ridiculous considering that I`m basing that entirely on the timbre of his voice!

　　"Mrs.- Lottie, have you considered the dangers of living here?" Milton dislodges my pointless musings.

　　"Apart from potential structural dangers?"

　　"I meant more that this house is known for attracting the type of people we get called in to investigate or arrest."

　　"Ah, yes. I suppose there might be some danger in living where people like that tend to congregate."

　　"Mn," Boyd chimes in with a pensive scowl. "We get calls about this place two, three times a week."

　　"Right," Milton adds. "Trespassing, breaking and entering, underage drinking, the odd other charges&. Might I suggest boarding up the broken windows at least?"

　　"That is a very sensible suggestion." I have to admit that I feel a little foolish for not considering such things on my own and sooner. The kettle starts to whistle; the water heated more quickly than I`d expected over the open flames. Paper cups, tea bags, hot water, a folding chair added to the pair of antique ones around the small table now relocated to a kitchen corner, and two police officers plus myself- we are an odd gathering for nearly three in the morning.

　　Ah, the sweet scent of chamomile.

　　"Thank you for the tea." Boyd wastes little time puffing into his cup to cool the contents while Milton swirls his own cup in his hands, savoring the heat against his fingertips.

　　"Ma`am, I don`t offer this to most people, but given your current circumstances, would you like to take down my personal phone number in case you run into any non-emergent difficulties? 911 is still probably the best option in an emergency, but some of the things you might run into likely won`t be-" A sudden look of recalibration crosses Milton`s face in the dim firelight. "Sorry to be too forward."

　　"No, officer. That was a very kind offer. It would give me a certain peace of mind to have a law enforcement friend on speed dial," I assure him with a smile.