Abandoned

Abandoned houses and barns are a dime a dozen in rural Michigan. They sit forlornly in the middle of farmland, waiting. Once in a while, someone will drive by. They’ll see the empty structures and wonder why they’re still standing. They might go to the corner gas station or the diner to ask questions. A local will smile and ask how they’re doing ushering the conversation along.

In the early summer of 1966, Douglas and Connie moved into a seventy-year-old farmhouse on Hutchens Road in southeast Michigan. It was the first street off of the main road, M-13. They admired the well-maintained lawn and rose bushes. While Connie fell in love with the upstairs bedroom windows overlooking the two-acre property; Douglas could see himself tinkering in the spacious barn.

The only thing they didn’t like was the abandoned property two lots up. The creeping ivy and bushes had long since devoured the decrepit house, and a tree had fallen and crushed the barn roof. They stood there defiantly. And Connie hated them.

She scowled every time she looked over. “Why haven’t they been torn down?”

Early one morning, after Douglas had gone to work, Connie heard trucks and voices. She took her cup of coffee and went outside to watch a demolition crew tear down the structures.

They had only been working for a short time when a large winged creature escaped from a broken window at the top of the barn. It perched high on a tree; its haunting, white face glowered at the people below.

A young woman with dark features watched from the opposite side of the demolition. Her eyes were fixed on the barn owl’s spectral presence until it flew away.

Connie’s skin crawled with nervous energy. She went into the house to call Douglas and tell him the news. She watched the sky for the rest of the day, looking for the ominous bird.

They posted a large ad at the gas station the next morning. There would be an auction on Saturday at the Church. They would auction the salvaged remains of the demolition. While there wasn’t anything she wanted, she felt an odd obligation to appear at the proceedings.

Douglas wanted to get there early so he could see what was being sold off. The auction started at nine. They arrived at eight-thirty. He wanted to make shelves for the barn and was pleased to find a bundle of wood.

They were standing there looking over the tagged items when an elderly man came up.

He pointed at the wood bundle. “What barn did those come from?”

Douglas replied. “The one by our house. On Hutchens Road.”

He sighed. “I know the one. I suppose it was time.”

Connie scoffed. “They were old and ugly.”

“They were beautiful when they were first built. The grandest on the street.”

“How old were they?”

He thought for a moment. “Oh, 1900 or so. I was ten years old. Henry Young had them built for his new wife. They wanted a family.” He shook his head. “She had a difficult time. They had a little boy, but he died at a young age. They moved out not long after he came home. My brother Earl moved in after that. His son died in the second war.”

She frowned. “That’s terrible. Did they stay in the house?”

“They did,” he nodded. “My niece moved away in ‘44. Sister-in-law died from breast cancer in ‘47 and Earl died a few months later. The house has been empty ever since.”

“I’m so sorry.” Connie’s eyes watered.

The auction began and the man bid them a good day and walked away.

Douglas won the bid for the wood and was ready to leave. But at the last minute, Connie placed and won a bid for the barn door.

“What on earth are you going to do with it?” Douglas asked on their way home. He was grumpy about having to tie down the door to the roof of the car.

She shrugged. “Something.”

They drove past the space where the house and barn had sat. She wondered what the house looked like when it was first built.

The next afternoon, her neighbor came over to see her. Connie was working outside at the time.

“I like the barn door,” the woman with the dark eyes said.

“I got it at the auction yesterday.”

“ I called on that property many times,” she said defensively. “I think that owl has been living there for a while.” Her face flushed. “I’m Gail, by the way.”

“Why don’t you come in for some lemonade?” Connie asked.

For the next hour, they talked about everything under the sun. A friendship quickly blossomed. They shared recipes and gossip. Their husbands shared tools and golf tips. And their children would share toys and teachers. The kids eventually left home for college and new jobs. Connie’s oldest son joined the service.

One by one, the houses and stores in the small town emptied and boarded up. Without workers, farms stalled, and land went untended. The last vestige of the town was the gas station that remained on M13.

Gail’s husband passed away in 2012. Her heart ached to live in such a big house by herself. She moved three and a half hours away to be close to her boys in Traverse City.

Douglas died on the eve of Connie’s sixty-ninth birthday. He was seventy. Their older son was stationed overseas, and their younger one lived in Wisconsin. The large, empty house was a lonely place to be. Sometimes she paced the floor, looking for something to do.

She made daily trips to the gas station to pick up a newspaper and talk to the owner. When he started talking about selling the station, Connie decided it was time to make a change.

“There’s an open spot next door to me,” Gail told her. “We could play euchre.”

It was a one-bedroom, one-bathroom, one-floor complex, far too small for all of her furniture. Much of it was left behind in the move. She bought a new twin bed and a small kitchen table with two chairs. One for her and one for Gail.

Gail came over on Wednesdays to play cards and drink coffee. They talked about the neighbors and their kids who they never saw. The weeks dripped by with activities that barely filled the empty days.

Winter blustered in, bringing sharp winds from Lake Michigan and three feet of snow. Connie and Gail continued their Wednesday card game. They grumbled about the weather and complained about the kids. They began to wonder why they moved.

Christmas Day came around and Connie’s son and his new wife brought Chinese. The kids were with his ex-wife. Gail’s two boys were fighting and refused to be in the same room with one another. One son came in the morning, the other in the evening. Their kids were with the other grandparents.

When Easter came, Connie’s son took the kids to Florida, and Gail’s sons were still not on speaking terms. On Mother’s Day, both women received a delivery of flowers and cards.

A week later, during a morning game of Hearts, Connie slapped her cards down. “I need a change.”

Gail grinned. “I have a bottle of Scotch in the cupboard.”

Connie stood up, nearly knocking her chair over.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home.”

“Fine, go.”

“No, I mean home.”

She walked out the door to go back to the house and start packing. When she opened the front door, she saw Gail leaning against the car with her luggage.

They talked about their kids for the first hour. Noting that it would take a missed birthday gift before their kids came looking for them. Then they talked about what they would do once they got to where they were going. The closer they got, the quieter they became.

“Let’s drive into town first,” Gail suggested.

A new coffee shop had been put in where the malt shop was. In the place of the old bank was a fast-food restaurant. And the gas station had been given a facelift.

Connie swung the car into the parking lot of the station. They jumped out of the car.

They opened the door and smelled something delicious. They followed the scent trail to the back of the building where they saw a woman chopping at something in a new kitchen.

“Hello!” She called. “How can I help you today?” She looked up and saw that she was being watched.

Connie realized she was staring at the woman. Her skin was caramel, her hair deepest brown. She was unlike any other resident of the area that Connie had ever seen.

Gail, who was looking at the dessert case, spoke up. “What happened to the previous owners?”

The woman brushed a hair from her forehead with her wrist. “They sold me the station, and they left. I think they said they were heading to Arizona.” She resumed chopping. “Do you know them?”

“Yes, we do. I haven’t seen them since I moved.” Connie explained.

“Are you visiting or moving back home?” She asked.

“Visiting.” She replied, but then added, “for now. My house is vacant. We’ll see what happens.”

“Where is it?”

“Hutchens.”

“Ah, I think I know which one. My wife and I built a house in the empty lot.”

Connie picked up a menu. “You mean the one across from the empty white farmhouse?”

“That’s the one.” She looked up. “If there is anything you need, Sasha is home today with the kids.”

Connie thanked her and Gail grabbed a menu. They promised to return for dinner and left the station. Their mouths were agape when they came to the new construction. It was a tall farmhouse that, if it weren’t for a few modern features, would have been mistaken for a well cared for centennial home.

Connie slumped back in her seat. “Wow, that is pretty.” She scratched her head. “Well, let’s go see what we got ourselves into.”

The front door was dirty, and the porch was littered with leaves. When she pushed the door open, spiderwebs fell into her face. A thick layer of dust coated everything.

Gail stood on the threshold and smirked. “Kind of makes your house look… dowdy.”

Connie playfully swung at her. “Hey. Be nice.” She walked into the living room. “Let’s get the windows open and air this place out.” She ripped down the sheets she had put up over the drapes and a heavy plume of dust billowed out.

Gail went to the second floor, and Connie went to the kitchen. The curtains she had sewn over forty years before looked tired and dirty. She yanked them down and opened the windows.

Gail announced from upstairs. “I found my room.”

Connie laughed and yelled back, “You don’t get the master bedroom.”

She called the electric and gas companies. The electrician would be there soon, and they would deliver the propane the next morning.

The electrician arrived just over an hour later. “Has the house been empty for a while?” He asked when he stepped out of the truck.

“A little over a year,” Connie replied.

“You should probably get it inspected. Just to be safe.”

“Why?”

“Rodents chew on wires. Are there mice droppings?” The women shook their heads. He seemed surprised. “There might be a cat around here.”

He left shortly after. Dinnertime was close and they were hungry. The menu Gail picked up had several options, but they zeroed in on the chicken shawarma plates. The cell phone signal was weak so they went up to the station to place an order.

“Where can we pick up cleaning supplies?” Gail asked Soraya.

“There’s a drug store ten minutes away. I have four orders ahead of yours, you have plenty of time to go into town and be back.”

The large store carried everything they needed, and then some. Gail dumped in a bottle of wine, a bottle of scotch, and a bag of pretzels.

“Is that all?” Connie smirked.

“I”m getting another bottle of wine.” Gail darted back for another bottle of red as Connie began checking out.

They picked up their food and went home. After they finished eating, they set about freshening up the bedrooms. They shook out the bedding, dusted the drawers and dust mopped the wood floors. They ran covered brooms along the ceilings and walls to collect the spider webs and dust particles.

The sun was dipping below the horizon when they called it quits for the night. They popped the cork on the wine and opened the scotch.

Connie toasted to Gail. “What a day.”

“What a day, indeed.”

“What do we do with the house when we’re done?” asked Gail, finishing her first glass.

“You mean when we die?” She laughed. “I’m not leaving it to the kids. Maybe we should invite other women to live here. A rescue for forgotten mothers.”

“One drink at a time.”

They heard footsteps along the side of the house. “Hello?”

“Back here,” Connie alerted.

Two silhouettes emerged out of the shadows. “We thought we would bring a welcome home gift. This is my wife, Sasha.”

An ebony woman with a funny feminist t-shirt held a plate of delicate pastries from their store. “Welcome back.”

Soraya grinned. “ I saw you eyeing the desserts.”

“Come on up and have a drink with us.” Gail stood up to get two more glasses from the kitchen.

“How did your first day go?” Soraya asked, sitting on the porch step.

Connie sank back in her chair. “So far so good. This is going to be a hell of a project. We needed this.” She winked. “Change is good.”

Sasha sat opposite her wife on the far end of the step. “It’s good to see this place opened up. It’s a beautiful home.” She exchanged a curious glance with Soraya.

Gail came out with two more glasses. Scotch or wine? We have both.”

Their new friends laughed.

“I’m good with scotch,” Sasha said.

“Wine works for me,” replied Soraya.

“Sasha and I have a question for you.” Soraya swallowed her dark red wine. “Was there ever a house on our property?”

Connie and Gail fell silent. Memories rushed back.

Of all the things they talked about over the years, they never talked about the day the house and barn came down. They counted the days from the day they met.

Gail’s eyes watered. “My mother grew up in that house.”

Connie nearly dropped her glass. “What?”

“My mom was raised there. She got pregnant with me when she was nineteen, and they gave her an ultimatum. Either give the baby up or get out.” She stared into her drink seeing the images of her life swirl together. “Earl and Elizabeth didn’t like that she got herself knocked up with a black baby.

“Mom and Dad married and moved to the city. When Earl died, Mom thought she would get the house, but the town didn’t want us moving in so they dragged it on and on in the courts. My husband was so angry. He bought that house two lots down from it.” She glanced at Soraya and Sasha. She laughed softly. “Jokes on them, I guess.”

Connie had never thought much about her friend. She wasn’t sure what her ethnicity was. She didn’t care. But after all these years, she had never known why Gail stood out there that day watching the house come down.

“You said you called on that house.” Connie shook her head. “I thought you meant you hated it.”

Gail wrinkled her nose. “That house,” she stressed “should have been mine. We could have fixed it. By then, it was old and way past repairs.” She waved a hand. “Que sera, sera. Besides, had we gotten our way, these delightful ladies would not have moved in and brought such delicious food.” She leaned over and grabbed a piece of baklava from the plate.

Connie hunched closer to her and laid a hand on her knee. “Look.” She pointed up at the barn. An owl with a heart-shaped face and black eyes perched on the precipice.

Sasha swallowed her scotch, “I’ve seen the pair around here. They might be living in your barn.”

The bird swooped down in one silent, deadly snatching a mouse. It ascended just as quickly as it had landed, disappearing into the night with its prey.

Gail poured them another glass. “What if it is living in the barn?”

Connie swirled the wine around her mouth, thinking. “Maybe we’ll just leave the barn alone for a while.”

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