Mansion Country

Spinning wheels – silver and dusty from the dirt road – rolled over a hard rock that made the car jolt abruptly, before sinking back into its natural course; yet it retained a bumpy rhythm because the large crack in the wheel had finally snapped and a chunk fell out. The driver, no older than nineteen, looked embarrassed where he sat, carefully turning the wheel to bring the car onto a side road toward its destination. He had a wool cap on his head and a dry piece of straw in his mouth. He moved it around with his tongue as he glanced quickly into the mirror above him, glimpsing curled light brown hair beneath a purple silk, feather hat; then a soft, pretty hand removing a lace glove from another. He saw this through the thin glass that separated the back from the front seat of the car, which was covered at the front by a glass window, but had no real doors and therefore nothing to keep the muggy air and dust from blowing into his already dirty brown hair. But Sandy was used to this.

His eyes fell back on the dusty road in front of him. He chewed thoughtfully on the straw and watched a tabby cat walk alongside the high fence to his right. This was mansion country and the pride of Utica. The houses on either side of the road were large with wide porches and sparkling clean windows and fresh coats of white paint, even a balcony here and there, on the second story. Lacy curtains with elegant designs were drawn shut in the open windows, hiding whatever high-class furniture lay behind them, which Sandy caught sight of occasionally, if the stark wind blew a bit of lace out of its proper position.

These people were different. Expectant, won’t-take-no-for-an-answer kind of people. Rude and arrogant, even. But they paid well for the odd jobs Sandy picked up whenever he had a chance. Some owned factories or stores in the city.

They possessed the kind of wealth Sandy’s people could only dream of.

The dirt road curved smoothly to the left and Sandy’s eyebrows raised instinctively at the view. “Here we are,” he muttered, lessening his foot’s pressure on the pedal as he turned the wheel again and the car rolled through the open, tall black gate onto the pebble driveway. He let it roll for a moment and then stepped on the break when the car was close enough to the house. It made a rickety sound, shuttered, and stopped.

There was a sharp intake of breath behind him, and the movement of two people shifting in their seats.

“I didn’t imagine it like this —”

“It’s far better than the letter described it, thank goodness.” Then a relieved laugh.

Sandy’s foot hit the pebble pavement as he stepped out of the car through the small open doorway. He straightened and sighed, squinting at the house through the intensely bright day.

It always displeased him to see places like this, far more extravagant than anyone possibly needed.

But there was the money.

So he made no apparent hesitation but slid his fingers around the bronze handle for the back seat and pulled it down and toward him. The hinges made a low squeal as the door opened.

No cool breeze flowed inside to greet the passengers, but the stifling heat Sandy had experienced the entire drive; he now wiped beads of sweat off his nose, silently cursing the weather.

Well, at least the women weren’t half-bad either.