If the house had the ability to speak, what it had seen would make an amazing story. But houses cannot speak. Things went on in houses that were not meant to be told, and this old house had been the scene of many life events; some were hopeful, some sad, some best forgotten.

It was a terribly old house, that was one undisputed fact. It had stood in the middle of the wheat fields since the very earliest days of the land rush and once the land was claimed, the house had been built quickly. The man who bought the land and built the house was anxious to get a solid, warm dwelling up because he wanted a wife and the house would be the lure for some strong, ambitious young woman; a helpmate as it were.

The house turned out to be more beautiful than one would have imagined; walls were thick and insulated and the man had gone to great expense to clothe it in brick that had to be carted in from a far away city. Locals commented among themselves that local lumber, cut from the endless stands of trees just a day’s ride away, would have been cheaper and easier, but the man never minded the cost. This was a house for the ages and one meant to convince that as-yet-unknown woman to travel to a small dot in the middle of nowhere.

That was the first of the inhabitants; the man, the lovely young woman whom he eventually brought home, the noisy brood of handsome children. The young woman raised the children and the house served its main purpose of keeping all of them warm and protected. But no house can give a lonely woman what she desired above all things. It couldn’t love her and cherish her, and after the last child left the house, the woman disappeared and the man was alone again.

Houses never know where people go but this house knew something had left along with the woman; the house was colder, more barren, and the man, now old and feeble, seemed to waste away. He had given the woman the house and the amazing children, but he never did figure out how to give any of them the one thing they craved. He did not know how to give love.

After the man died, alone, in his big bed without a soul to mourn him, the house stood empty. Some years later, the youngest of the children he had sired made his way back to that cold, hard house and its endless expanse of land and took up residence since he had no place else to go. He spent days and weeks cleaning out the junk that the man had hoarded and stored in the house during his last years, and the house felt lighter and brighter after some paint and some elbow grease. The house, mute and stately, waited patiently for the man to bring love into the house, but he had learned some hard lessons from his hard father and had no desire to open himself up to another human being so he remained alone and eventually, like his father before him, lay down on the big bed and left the world.

By then the house was over one hundred years old, and was beginning to show its age. Neglect of houses and people is somewhat the same. The fault lines begin to show eventually and things start to droop and sag. Several times an estate agent, on behalf of whatever family still existed who were descended from the builder, would show the house but no one was very interested in taking on the admitted problems that an old, neglected house most likely had. Over the next decades the nearest village became a town, and then the town became a city, and began expanding in the direction of the house. Land became dear, and people began to take an interest in the old house.

“Lovely bones,” the woman said, walking through the house and eyeing the beautiful stairway and the huge, bright kitchen. “It will take a lot of work and time but I have plenty of that.”

The man with her put his arm around her and they smiled at each other. “You think this is the one?”

“Absolutely.” And they kissed.

The house seemed to swell and felt maybe this time would be the charm, and it was for a while. The house was sad to see that after several years the house didn’t see the man as much, and the woman began to droop. The house knew what was coming and wished it could comfort the woman but the house itself needed some reassurance that never came. She became a bitter old woman and like the others she eventually lay down in the big bed and her spirit was no more.

The For Sale sign went up again, but no one was interested. The sign rusted and then leaned and then finally fell over. The city had swallowed up the house and it was an island unto itself among tall buildings and stately homes and there was so much grown over the house that most people only saw the ropy Ivy and the ancient trees that masked the beauty of the place.

It was on a cold, windy day when the house heard the voices making their way toward the front door, hacking away the overgrown bushes and the ivy, laughing and talking to each other.

“Can you actually believe someone left this to you, Cora?” The voice was a young voice, charming in its own way.

“My Great-aunt Eudora is what the solicitor said. I didn’t even know I had a great-aunt, but I am the only one left of my mother’s side so here I am. Owner of this monstrosity.” She laughed. “What shall we DO with this place, Leeann? Maybe just tear it down or sell it or something. What can the two of us, a couple of almost middle aged school teachers, ever do with this place?”

The house seemed to hold its breath as the two women opened the door with the ancient key and walked into the front hall.

“Oh my goodness. Cora, this is spectacular! It needs some updating and cleaning but my gracious, what a house.”

The two of them marched up the graceful old stairway, and found the many bedrooms and the beautiful stained glass windows that had been set in by the builder like jewels. The sun came through the glass, making colored patterns on the hardwood floors. The house was trying very hard to put its best foot forward. In the way of houses, this one sensed that these women were very different from all the others; there was a radiance about them, a kind of joy that seemed to bind them and the house stood, waiting, hoping.

Cora and Leeann hugged each other, and began talking over each other in their excitement. They talked of a school, they talked of children, they spoke of how it could be done and the house felt that swelling again. It felt total love and caring from these women and it wanted their dream to come true. He could already feel the warmth and kindness in them and if it could have spoken, which of course it couldn’t, the house would have said, “Bring love in!”

It took time, but the two women were determined. They had both known rejection and loss and they were determined to do what they could do to make sure there were children who were protected from that. Now the house has its joy and its love because it is filled with the voices of young girls. The women turned it into a refuge for girls who needed a boost in life and who needed people to care, and the house bloomed again. All the hurt, all the bitterness, all the coldness of the past seemed to slowly creep out through the thrown open windows and the ins and outs of those happy young girls. Love had finally found a house and made it a home.