The roses are leaving traces of their disapproval and disturbance up and down the flesh of my forearms, wrists, and fingers. Not even thick leather gloves can stave them off.

　　Lottie, it`s for the best.

　　Blood beads up where the thorns slash.

　　You have to get rid of it.

　　Blood stains into the cloth of my shirt where the scratches rub against it.

　　What were you thinking?!

　　Blood in my mouth tastes familiar and rusty when I suck on a pricked finger.

　　Blood. So much blood.

　　Hacking the rose bushes back from the type of overgrown that makes them taller than me to something almost stubby looking makes me feel& apologetic? Guilty even? These bushes have been left mostly undisturbed for& I don`t even know how long. There aren`t any pods where a flower would have once been. That tells me that the roots are struggling to support the overgrown branches.

　　Fertilizer! I pause and pull my phone out of my pocket to add "rose bush fertilizer" to my running shopping list.

　　Sigh&.

　　Even out here she speaks to me.

　　I wonder what she could tell me about life. I wonder what historical mysteries she could solve if she wanted to. I`m listening.

　　Lottie&.

　　It`s for the best.

　　My eyes sting with sweat dripping from the hoods of my eyelids. Soon I am standing in the garden with my eyes clenched while they clear of the salty solution mixed with sunscreen.

　　Don`t watch. Close your eyes and it will all be over in a few minutes.

　　The heat isn`t helping my headache, and I am feeling weirdly nauseous. Maybe heat exhaustion? Blinking sunscreen out, I take in my surroundings. I`ve had a productive morning. The rose bushes have all been hacked down to size, and the landscaping company will trim the grass and spray weed killer and grass fertilizer. I still need to completely gut the foliage surrounding the fountain at the center of the driveway, but I think I might need water and rest more at the moment. Another day.

　　What were you thinking?!

　　Sigh&.

　　And I feel guilty. And I feel scared. And I feel betrayed. And I feel angry and confused and& relieved?

　　Almost done. You`re doing great.

　　Lottie&.

　　The porch no longer squeaks when I walk across it. The wood is smooth and sanded and no longer splintery. Well, it`s new, completely replaced. It`s been white washed on every vertical surface and stained to match the dark oak in the foyer on all the horizontal surfaces.

　　You could have died!

　　It`s all your fault!

　　You deserve this.

　　He`s just like you!

　　What did you think was going to happen?!

　　You should have told me!

　　This is for the best.

　　"Shut up!"

　　Mrs. Larson is coming sometime soon. I cling to this fact and pull out my phone to scan through the calendar. Two days. I have two days to get the yard semi-presentable before she comes to inspect the house inside and out for "historical accuracy". I consented to this visit as a reward for her contributions to the project. She wants to see the chapel. That means I need to move out of it. There are proper bedrooms upstairs now.

　　Blood. Fear, guilt, hurt, weakness&.

　　Sigh&.

　　"Please. I`m tired. I`m trying."

　　The bathrooms are almost completely renovated. The plumbing went in a while ago. Toilets, sinks, tubs, showers. The shapes of the bathrooms had been adjusted the last time the house was updated to accommodate tubs and showers. Apparently, back when the house was built, baths were taken in a bedroom by a fire, or a wash basin was used for sponge baths. Mrs. Larson is still picking out the perfect mirrors for each of the bathrooms, and the main floor powder room is the one room that hasn`t been painted because she wants this one, very specific wallpaper that`s been on backorder for a long time.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it`s taken without the author`s consent. Report it.

　　You deserve this!

　　This is all my fault.

　　Sigh&.

　　***

　　The air escapes my lips in a heavy puff. It is time.

　　This little chapel has been my home for& nearly a year? I just remember that I bought the house at the beginning of last summer and moved in pretty quickly. Now, I need to move out of the space so that it too can be renovated and restored. I still have the boxes of the original items found in this room. They`re out of storage and stacked in a corner of the billiards room. I`m relocating to the second parlor for now. It sits at the front of the house, and it is spacious enough to fit my little twin bed, rocking chair, and rack of clothing and personal items. But this room has been my living space for nearly a year. But I didn`t want to continue paying the monthly storage fee for the things that belong in this room. Those things are temporarily in the billiards room while I gut the chapel. The stones still house watchful faces in the walls. And the floors try to give me splinters. And it`s still dark and dank without an opening window. Maybe I should have that circular window replaced with one that opens. It`s stuffy, and it smells weird in here. I wonder if they can match the colors of the stained glass. I wonder if the chapel was built as intended. I should go study the blueprints to see if it was.

　　I wander through the house to the collection of frames now mounted proudly in the billiards room and find the relevant plans with images of the chapel. And it occurs to me that the ink is a slightly different, slightly darker color for the chapel on the main level floor plan, and the blueprint showing the back face of the house is a similar, slightly darker brown ink. Huh. So maybe the chapel was an afterthought. But the images of the chapel in the blueprints matche what now exists, so these issues were likely oversights of a slapdash addition to the home construction.

　　Why was I looking at these?

　　Lottie&. Creak&. Stomp, stomp, stomp&.

　　I frown and remember that I`m supposed to be moving my stuff into the second parlor. So I wander next door to the parlor in question and look around, feeling like I forgot something as I observe the corner where I plan to take up residence. There`s a lot more sunlight in this room despite the covered front porch through the very grandiose, historically mimicking, energy efficient windows. It offends my eyes. I close the lavish curtains that Mrs. Larson picked out with Scrooge-worthy annoyance.

　　Right. Moving.

　　I return to the chapel and begin relocating my things. It doesn`t take long. But the bed is cumbersome and I will need some help moving the mattress. Jay should be along soon. He wanted to help assess the chapel for intended projects. I wonder if there is a way to power wash the interior stone walls. That would save a lot of time. I know the floors need replacing. I`ve learned a thing or two about when a floor is worth saving or not. It`s not. The chapel floor was built with cheaper, lower quality wood and stained with lower quality stains that didn`t preserve the wood well. And the circular window doesn`t open in there. That was an oversight. I should have it replaced. But there is original stained glass in that old window. Maybe the window can be preserved and displayed somehow? I wonder if that window company& um& the place where Barry works? What is its name?! & Well, I wonder if they can match the colors of the stained glass in a window that actually opens. That would be nice&.

　　Sigh&. Lottie&. Oh, Lottie&.

　　***

　　"Hi, Jay."

　　"Lottie! Let`s take a look at that chapel, yeah? Were you able to get all of your stuff moved?"

　　"Everything but the mattress," I tell him with a small smile, and I get my reward. Jay chuckles, something warm and affectionate in that laugh.

　　"You never cease to amaze me, Lottie. I can help you with a mattress." It takes only a couple of minutes before we are staring at an empty room together. "Well, I think it`s obvious that the floors need replacing," Jay says after a minute or two spent assessing things while his tongue clicked mindlessly. "There`s really not much to this room, is there?"

　　"Is it possible to power wash the walls?"

　　"Nah. You don`t want to do that. I know it sounds like a good idea, but it will chip out the old mortar and ruin the walls. No. An old-fashioned bristle brush and soapy water are, unfortunately, the only good options."

　　"I understand." It comes out in a sort of sigh that`s copied by the house a moment later.

　　Sigh&.

　　"Sorry, Lottie. No shortcuts, I`m afraid. But you are so unbelievably close to finishing! What`s left? This room, the kitchen&."

　　"Last details in the bathrooms, some yard work, the fountain out front needs some help, Mrs. Larson is still adding details and furniture&."

　　"But the bulk of it, the house itself, is nearly finished!"

　　"True." I sigh.

　　Creak&.

　　"That`s amazing, Lottie. All that done in a year`s time?! Considering where you started!? Really, amazing." I nod acknowledgement of the praise and sigh again, feeling tired. "Is& everything alright, Lottie? You don`t seem& like yourself today."

　　"How so?" I ask with a tease curling one half of my lips.

　　"I& nevermind," he shrugs awkwardly and returns to staring at the chapel walls.

　　"I`m thinking of having that window replaced, the floors replaced, and the walls scrubbed down before returning all the things to the space."

　　"What needs to be moved back in? Remind me."

　　"An altar, some religious symbols including a crucifix, a shelf holding some old books, and I think that`s mostly it. Oh! No. Wait. The pews or benches or whatever. They were overlooked when I sent things to the antiques restorers because they were already in storage. I guess the altar is also being restored right now. This room has a history of being overlooked," I muse.

　　"What makes you say that?" Jay asks, and I turn to find him frowning at me curiously.

　　"It just does."

　　Sigh&. Oh, Lottie&.

　　"I know! You don`t have to&."

　　Jay`s eyebrows have pinched together. "Lottie?"

　　"Sorry. It`s nothing. I was just&. I`m fine. It`s fine."

　　"Are you sure you`re alright?"

　　Sigh&.

　　"So I think I`ll start by washing the walls. That shouldn`t take more than a day or two. Then I`ll move to the floors. I`ll have the window company come take a look later. That project isn`t so pressing."

　　"I agree. Would you like help with any of it?"

　　"Installing new flooring. I think I can rip out what`s there on my own."

　　"Are you sure? I wouldn`t mind-"

　　"I`m fine, Jay. I`ll let you know when it`s ready for you."

　　He puffs a little air, and nods, something resigned in the sound of it. "Alright, Lottie. Just know that I`m happy to help."

　　"I appreciate that."