Freshly Baked Bread

                                      FRESHLY BAKED BREAD

                                 Fiction by James F. Leiner, 2012

                                                  Part One

We could see the house as soon as weturned down Leveta Place.  The old
Victorian stood at on the river bank majestically overlooking the Hudson at the
end of the block. The short street going east down a gentle hill to the water
was lined with a half dozen homes on either side, but the one we were
interested in buying was on the water’s edge. The large white house with
cranberry shutters had a tower room off the front and several gables. At first
glance it didn't exactly cry out, "Buy Me", but it had potential for an "old fixer upper type guy" like me, who was looking retirement in the face. My wife, Jeanne and I were searching the area for an older home we could turn into a Bed & Breakfast in the summer time and close up in the winter when we snow-birded down to Florida.

I saw the realtor waiting on the large front porch as she waved. Mrs. Foster looked like the consummate Real Estate Agent. Middle age with hair touched up to hide the gray. Wearing a gray business suit she looked perfect, even down to her skirt. “Isn’t her skirt a tad short for her,” remarked my wife Jeanne as we walked up the flagstone sidewalk. “Did you retain her for her legs, or is she a good realtor,” she added. 

“She’s a professional realtor and knows everyone in town.”  I whispered,
“Can I help it is she has great legs. You know I like dealing with women instead of men.”

“I know – I know,” she added with a sarcastic tone.  “You have soft spot for
professional women.”

“Hey, that’s me,” I smiled and kissed her quickly on the cheek as we walked up the front steps and shook hands with Mrs. Foster. I saw the house’s information folder in her hands, a sign she was eager to answer any question we might ask.

“Isn’t the view from this porch spectacular?” asked the realtor gesturing with an out swept arm towards the majestic stretch of Tappan Zee bay. “That’s Hook Mountain,” she gestured pointing up the river. “And, of course across the river is Westchester County. At night the view of the Tappan Zee Bridge all lit up is wonderful,” she added.

“The view is perfect,” Jeanne answered as I noticed the front yard was plain and simple, with a large maple tree and a small lawn in need of mowing.  I could also see overgrown weeds were taking over the rose garden by the front porch that could also use a coat of paint. We entered the front door, the etched glass insert fitting loosely and rattling as the door closed. Entering the front hallway we were greeted with the wonderful aroma of bread baking.

“Oh, that smells delicious,” my wife smiled. I knew it was an old realtor’s trick to have the aroma of bread baking when showing a home – so I wasn’t surprised. This place needs all the help it could get, I thought to myself. The Victorian center hall led back to the kitchen. Off to the left was a den or library with its own door out to the porch. On the right was a large living with a convenient set of pocket doors into the dining room. A fireplace commanded one corner next to a picture window with a large river view. The view just about made up my mind. I could imagine a fire glowing in the fireplace, while I sat with a glass of wine watching the river flow by. A four light brass ceiling fixture would provide ample light. The walls were freshly painted white, though I would have preferred more of a Victorian color or wallpaper, but that could be remedied. We followed Mrs. Foster into the kitchen, and I was surprised to find it rather nice. The counters and cabinets were located just within reach of someone who liked to cook. That’s when I noticed the wooden breadbox on the counter, and asked why it was there when the rest of the kitchen was empty?

"The breadbox comes with the house for whom ever purchases this house", she answered matter-of-factly with a smile. "The former owner passed away some time ago, and she loved to bake bread. Her daughter, who is now the legal owner, asked me to leave the bread box here; she said she felt her mother's presence in the house".  Funny, I thought to myself, she has a look in her eyes, as if there is more to the breadbox than she is telling us, as she moved to the hallway, with my wife and me trailing behind. To our surprise we were shown servants quarters off the hallway with a separate bedroom and bath.  “That’s perfect,” I whispered to Jeanne. After looking at the four bedrooms, two bathrooms and a couple of nice closets on the second floor, we took a look at the basement and the back yard.

“This place is perfect for a B&B,” whispered Jeanne as we stood on the front porch looking out over the river.

“I know,” I whispered back. “Mrs. Foster can we get back to you later today,” I told her while shaking her hand once more.

“Sure, please let me know. The house has been on the market for some time and I’m sure you can make any reasonable offer. You might get a bargain.” She shook my hand once more and we drove away. It was more than a day before we got back to Mrs. Foster as we spent the rest of the week looking at other houses around the Nyack area we’d seen for sale, either passing by a for sale sign, or from ads in the local newspaper. We were not really being "picky", or holding out for a "lower price", as much as we wanted to find a house that made us feel "comfortable" and would make the perfect Bed & Breakfast we wanted to open in this charming little river front village. We had done our homework and were
surprised to find there are no B & B homes in the area. We thought running
a B&B would bolster our retirement savings.  With all the other houses we looked into none seemed to compare with the large Victorian on Hayes Place and its commanding view of the river, so I guess it was no surprise to Jeanne and me to find ourselves in Mrs. Foster’s office the following Tuesday morning, going over the closing documents and escrow papers. The seller accepted our offer and we both felt we were on our way to becoming Inn Keepers.

"Initial here and here and here, sign here and here", gosh, I felt like a movie star signing autographs! But finally all the paper work was completed and Mrs. Foster handed me the set of keys. “If you have any problems or questions please call me or stop by the office.” I looked down and smiled. Her skirt seemed even shorter to me, hmmm - I thought to myself, I guess nice legs do sell houses.