The lady of the manor was home.
“Hey Curly! It’s about time you came back here!” Lyn looked to see where the booming voice was coming from and saw the small brownie bounding down the back porch steps.
“I haven’t been called that in years, Elden,” she stated, recalling the unruly curls that tormented her teen years.
“You are selling the place.” The statement was presented as fact.
The small man had kept the house clean and neat for a hundred years now, and he fought back his emotion poorly, letting a tear race down his wrinkled face. Elden and his beloved wife, Isla, resided in the home where they met and fell in love, raised their children, and were now proud great-great-grandparents of many little brownies. They loved this old plantation home and had lived here longer than any human occupants.
“I’m not sure. Six months ago, the decision was easy.” The pain and tears began to flow as she recalled the lives lost. “But when Chris and little Christopher died….” She halted, caught in an overwhelming sadness. “I don’t know if I can lose any more.”