Edited by Melado
Views from the bathroom window while waiting for that memorable Chili, Pizza, Doritos and beer dinner feeling to go away.
The House on the Hill
The house stood high atop a bluff overlooking the Okanogan river and the little town of Jessup. The long dead builder's vision of grandeur placed it dangerously near the edge of the high bluff. Only a wooden fence five feet high stood between the house and a long, long drop. The fence was built inches from the very edge.
The land proved more stable than the many doubters believed when it was built in 1897. None expected the fence to still be standing ten years later and gruesome predictions of the houses fate filled the gossips for years. Vindictive visions of mudslides had seen first the fence, then the big Victorian house collapsing down the crumbling face of the bluff, taking the family along with it.
The handsome Victorian had been remodeled various times; enlarging the once fashionable small rooms to more modern needs, the kitchen had undergone major upgrades four times. Electricity had replaced gas lighting early, the plumbing had been redone three times in its entirety.
Many families made the old showplace home during the 20th century and one strange feature had fascinated every man of the house who called himself the house's master. The master bedroom was situated on the third floor and from the first had been graced with an en suite bath. On the East wall of the bath, overlooking the river valley and its town, Jessup, the builder had placed a window.
The window was high on the wall, but allowed a man of better than average height to look out and enjoy a sweeping view of the grandeur of the river valley. Their mates on the other hand were only given a view of the high blue sky and what clouds happened by in this dry Eastern Washington locale.
A similar view would have been expected from the bedroom windows except for the café curtains and tall evergreen trees that masked the near view into Jessup.
The women living with those men were therefore totally unaware of the most entrancing aspect of the view from the window. A man of slightly more than average height and standing at the window found himself looking directly down on the back yards and windows of the townsfolk below. If the women had been aware of the view they would immediately have believed the townspeople had a similar view into the bathroom from the town. The window would have immediately been painted over or otherwise masked.
The men folk, being normally inquisitive and male, discovered immediately that unless a man pressed his nose directly against the glass or the light was on in the bathroom he was unnoticeable. It became apparent soon after discovering the window that the drapes to the windows on the backs of those houses were rarely drawn. High fences guarded the townsfolk's privacy from intrusion giving the inhabitants a strong feeling of privacy.
The window was much, much higher than any fence could be built.
Thus were born generations of voyeurs from the builders' family, generation upon generation.
As the years went on the graceful Victorian was sold time and again, to the delight of men from other families who were then allowed to study the habits of the men and women living in the town below.
This is the house on the hill that will be featured in upcoming Pepto Bismo Dreams. The first, Harvey J. Appleton is posted with this introduction.
Authors, you are welcome to use the Pepto Bismo Dreams and The House on the Hill as a basis for a story if the setting kicks your creativity. The only things I ask is that you include The House on the Hill in its entirety as a lead in to your story, that you use Pepto Bismo Dreams somewhere in the title and attribute "the Troubador."
As always I enjoy feedback. Remember, it does not have to be gentle but please maks comments about the story not whether you like this kind of story. The people who will be populating the classic Victorian will be all types and all kinds.
Again, if you pet a dog, he will give you a lick in thanks, if you kick him he will give you a lick to show he still cares for you. Two things, give this dog a chance to get his licks in and use your name. I'm the only one who will see it, and I have met many friends on the 'net through signed comments. Positive or negative, if it is what you believe it is fine. I give little credit to a comment that doesn't include a name.
And please VOTE! Preferably high, but vote for the story.
Chapter 1: Harvey J. Appleton
Edited by Melado
Harvey was annoyed at the need for Charlotte's helping their good friends the Knudsens. Nothing to be done for it, however. Ingrid was confined to her bed with the coming birth. Ingrid was Charlotte's dearest friend so Charlotte felt the need and delight of overseeing her friends home and self in addition to her own Victorian on the hill.
Charlotte's deep longing for a child of her own certainly prohibited Harvey's taking a stand that she see better to the condition of their household in the tall Victorian his father had built fourteen years before. As the servants had been well trained by his mother well before his parents went on their tour of Europe he had to acknowledge that it was working out well.
Sighing he gave himself a moment to indulge in the pride he took in his father turning the business over to him at such a young age.
The only fly in his ointment was a truth he had been hiding from his wife. That ridiculous case of Mumps he contracted two years ago had left him sterile. It was something he was going to have to face soon. It was not fair to his beloved and he had to break the news to her soon that they could never have children.
It was late, too late to navigate the treacherous road carved out of the bluff. He had forbidden Charlotte to return after night fall. She would have to remain the night with Ingrid and Knute.
It was astounding that two such dominant men as Knute and himself had grown to be such friends. And then for them to marry cousins! On top of that Knute and he had occasionally been mistaken for twins. They were of a height, two inches over six feet. His wife once described them as being long, lean and lethal.
The two women on the other hand were physical opposites. His Charlotte was tall and slim, wonderfully curved and patrician. Her hair was fair, as golden as corn silk. She habitually wore it coiled high on her head, emphasizing the slim column of her throat. Knowing what a kiss right "there" beneath her ear would do to her gave him a jingle every time he admired that slender column. She was regal in her bearing, her coloring golden. (Last sentence says what was said in previous sentences.)
Ingrid on the other hand was a smallish woman, barely over five feet in height. She was certainly not dumpy but her womanly curves were pronounced. Ingrid was his best friend's wife and his own wife's cousin but she still gave him tingles when he surreptitiously admired her figure. With her Norwegian ancestry you would expect her to be as blonde as Charlotte. The opposite was true. Her hair was a blue black as dark as a moonless midnight. Ingrid wore her hair in ringlets, a midnight cap that emphasized her milk white complexion.
Where Charlotte was reserved and aristocratic Ingrid was vibrant and lively, her essence invigorating any gathering. The combination of Ingrid's energy seasoned with Charlotte's classic bearing ensured any gathering including the two of them was memorable.
Knute and he had been raised together, their fathers being business partners and both he and Knute were born in the same April. Knute's father's passing at such an early age would have been an even greater tragedy except for Harvey's father gathering the reins of the business into his capable hands. The value of the Knudsen share of the business had more than doubled since the accident.
The two families had always been close and after the loss of Knute's father the boys had been raised as brothers. Harvey's father had prevailed on Knute's mother to move in with the Appletons in the big Victorian towering over the town. When Knute's mother died just five years after her husband Knute had been accepted as a second son by the family. The two boys had been raised virtually as twins.
Harvey had always been grateful for the friendship he shared with Knute.
After doffing his gray suit coat and shrugging out of the matching vest Harvey hung them and his tie in the closet. Stripping off his white shirt Harvey stepped into the bath to drop it down the laundry chute while preparing himself for bed. Out of habit he left the lights off in the bathroom, just leaving the door open to provide what light was needed. Turning on the light interfered with the view from the window.
As he washed the tall man stepped to the window to enjoy his nightly view of the town. Knute's home was just to the left of the home directly below his big Victorian and with his wife visiting he glanced at Knute's home with more than his normal interest.
As he watched the back door opened and his Charlotte stepped out into the garden dressed in a white shirt and her favorite ankle length lemon yellow skirt. She was carrying a wicker basket, the long neck of a wine bottle protruding up from one corner. Charlotte was closely followed by his friend Knute, the man Harvey considered a brother.
.... There is more of this story ...