This post is part of StoryADay May (https://storyaday.org/) #StoryADay #StoryADayMay @storyadaymay #freeshortstory

Pineys

He didn’t want the real estate agent to know it, but he fell in love with the little house in the country as soon as he saw it in person. He had been genuinely cool toward it in the office, although he agreed to look at it because it came with the right amount of land – enough to care for, but not enough to turn him into a slave to it. He liked the location, too: zoned residential, with enough pillars of the community living there to keep it residential. He was willing to look, at least, with a mind to tearing the house down and rebuilding.

But the house was perfect. The property line was marked with impenetrable hedges as high as his waist, the house rimmed with some kind of bulbous flower in varying shades of pink. The house itself was small but with no visible deterioration. No flaking paint or missing boards or cracked foundation – that he could see from the car.

“What do you think?” the agent said. “Pretty, eh?”

“Looks all right,” he said, hoping he sounded indifferent.

“Actually,” said the agent, “it’s been inspected and all repairs and renovations have been made. I’d buy it myself if I was in the market.”

“Good to know.”

“Let’s go in and introduce ourselves and then we’ll look around outside.”

The door opened as they reached it, and a tall woman with curly gray hair opened it to them. She nodded to the agent and said, “Mr. Wilmot.”

She sized him up as Wilmot introduced him.

“Mr. Anderson,” she said, offering her hand. “I’m Nora Mason. This was my mother’s house, and her mother’s before her. It was built by my Uncle Ernest when he married Aunt Birdie.”

“I’m surprised you’re willing to sell it. Especially to a stranger.”

“Needs must,” she said.

“Actually,” said Wilmot, “it’s gotten to be a bit much, hasn’t it, Miss Mason?”

Miss Mason’s cheeks took on color across the cheekbones and her lips tightened.

Looking only at Anderson, she said, “Daddy made good money at the factory and never spent a penny. He left us all comfortable, so I never married.”

Anderson liked that: I had money so I never married. His grandmother often talked about friends who had stayed in bad marriages because they couldn’t afford not to, and his mother had talked about friends who had left bad marriages because they had good jobs and could support themselves. His female friends got married or stayed single for other reasons than finance. He, himself, was a happy bachelor.

Miss Mason said, “I’ve done all the upkeep myself. I had the COVID and it left me weak, so I can’t do it any more. I get too tired too fast.”

Anderson liked her honesty and resented Wilmot speaking for her, as if the debility that had come upon her made her feeble rather than strong but compromised.

“My nieces and nephews would just sell it,” she said, “so I might as well sell it myself as leave it to them.”

“Actually,” said Wilmot, “I’m putting Miss Mason into a small patio home on the other side of town with a community landscaper, right, Miss Mason?”

“You found a place I liked, yes, and I’m moving there.”

“May I see the house?” Anderson said. He had glimpsed the room they were in as they talked and was eager to see more.

Wilmot gestured to the fireplace in the corner of the room. “Working fireplace,” he said. “It’s set into an angle like that so it can warm the whole house. There’s just the downstairs, but it’s roomier than it looks.”

Miss Mason trailed the tour. The corners of her mouth drooped a little whenever Wilmot mentioned a particularly convenient or quirky feature. Anderson determined to take another tour without Wilmot and see if Miss Mason would share the stories that obviously went along with every inch of the property.

Outside, the name of the flowers around the base of the house came to him: Peonies. His great-aunt Julia had been very fond of them.

Wilmot walked on, talking about something or other, not noticing at first that Anderson had stayed behind with Miss Mason.

“These are very old,” said she said. “My Aunt Birdie planted them. She was always dividing them and giving crown roots to friends. If you drive around and see them in the yard, they probably came from these plants. My grandma and my mama did the same thing. But nobody wants the old flowers anymore. I know you’ll probably dig them up and plant something else, but that’s all right. I took crown roots from each one of them, and I’ll plant them at the new house.” She touched a bloom. “And then I’ll go and they’ll go.”

Wilmot was back. “Those old-timey flowers are so sweet,” he said. “But they have ants all over them. Look,” he lifted a bud with the tip of a finger. Ants scurried down the stem.

“The ants make ’em open,” Miss Mason said. “You can’t have the flowers without the ants.”

Anderson suddenly remembered something else and said, “My great-aunt called them pineys.”

“That’s what they are,” said Miss Mason. “My mother said they were called pineys because they droop when they’re full, like they’re pining for something.”

“Actually,” said Wilmot, but stopped talking when Anderson obliviously stepped backward and accidentally stepped on his foot totally without meaning to.

“I’ve seen all I need to,” Anderson said. “Thank you, Miss Mason.”

“I’ll be in touch,” said Wilmot.

In the car, Wilmot said, “What do you think?”

“Actually,” said Anderson, “I’ll think about it.”

MY PROMPT FOR TODAY: Peonies and my Aunt Rose and Uncle Elmore and their house and flowers.

MA