Chapter 58: Disillusionment

Leticia is a shaker and mover, an irresistible charismatic force of will. If she demands a task be finished today, people will ungrudgingly work to midnight not to disappoint her.

As lord of the manor, I only watch and observe. I never distract the workers with questions or suggestions. Leticia has it organized better than I could. Workers assume I choose only to share my dissatisfactions with Leticia, and I must then instruct her to come down hard on them to come up to snuff. They’re mistaken. Sparring with a bulldozer is preferable to confronting Leticia about anything.

The backhoe and dozer are coordinating perfectly. The backhoe enters between the garden walls and backs out raking stuff out in the open for the dozer to shove into a deep excavated hole to one side. The charred detritus of the gardener’s house is gone. The thicket is thinning. Laborers are attacking and trimming patches of tangled vegetation remaining close beside the interior walls, using hoes and machetes. Unveiled by their efforts, fruit trees and grape arbors bearing different varieties are becoming visible.

Between these kitchen garden walls is a secret unsuspected orchard I was completely unaware of. The fruits are reserved for the exclusive use of the manor house by design. Guarded between the gardener’s and the priest’s homes serving as formidable sentries, respect for these persons discourages marauders and intruders. Walled in, the fruit is protected from random foraging by passing help-selves.

The air in the environs of the parsonage or rectory, is heavy laden with the funk of mold and rot. Heavy shoring timbers are strategically wedged around the structure to hold the ancient house upright while it’s disassembled piece by piece. A crew is busy pulling nails from removed boards and another crew runs them through a planer. Clean white oak boards emerge. The funk planed off the surfaces is responsible for the putrid choking dust filling the air. Was white oak, also know as naval oak, grown in the islands in the past?

That’s one of the questions I asked Leticia when I returned to the house. The wood is not native to the islands but was imported specifically to build these houses to last. It isn’t white oak, it’s thick wide southern live oak boards she’s salvaging. An even harder, more durable, more rot resistant species than white oak. Old Ironsides was built of southern live oak and cannonballs bounced off her. These same cannonballs were effective at demolishing white oak timbers of equal thickness, shattering them into lethal shrapnel splinters. The huge trees these knot free boards were milled from are long gone. Worth salvaging the extra wide planks. The wood isn’t rotten, the accumulated dirt and mold on the surface contains the culture of deceased rottenness. We’re losing an eighth of an inch in planing a sixteenth off each side.

“If it isn’t rotten, then why is it falling down?”

“It’s nailsick, love. The nails are almost entirely rusted away. The only thing holding the boards together is the glue of goop it accumulated over two centuries. Reinforced by bindings of spider silk webs I suppose.”

“Are you just going to nail the boards together again after stripping and cleaning them?”

“No, we’re going back with cinderblock walls and mostly fireproof materials. Modern systems of electricity, plumbing, and ventilation. Air-conditioning isn’t needed. We’ll reuse the old floor joists and roof rafters after scraped clean in the planer. The original pine floor boards are all rotten. They will be replaced with salvaged oak. We’ll use the finest pieces of oak for cabinetry, doors and window casements. We intend to salvage as much of the old window pane glass as possible, and reglaze it in new frames made from live oak. Heres a pane of the glass I removed from the rectory. See how wavy it is? Look how it’s thicker on one edge? That’s the bottom. Glass is a dense liquid. It’s constantly flowing, but so slowly, centuries pass before you notice it’s flowing down to the bottom. Interesting, huh?”

“You know a lot, Leticia.”

“No, I’m learning a lot, studying and researching the manor.”

“Will the rectory be ready in time for my guests?”

“Hold on to your button, butt head. I’m recreating a masterpiece home here. Nobody is going to live in there but you, me, and the children. You get that through you thick noggin right now, and no more will be said on that subject!”

“So, Lauren’s daughters get the carriage house after all?”

“Actually, I’m considering some of our worthier residents from the settlement for the carriage house. Your Florida sluts can have the vacated settlement apartments.They’ll feel right at home. Aren’t they accustomed to living in shipping containers? The apartments are a little more spacious than containers. They’ll be impressed.”