The Purple Door - 1. The Purple Door

Bring this historic Victorian back to her original beauty! The original woodwork is still intact and will WOW you as you enter the front door. The beautiful built-ins with leaded glass surround the living, den, and dining areas. The original woodburning insert and mantel enveloped by wood-cased windows set a focal point. Each of the 4 bedrooms is oversized with large walk-in closets. This home needs work, but the bones are great. Enjoy evenings on the large, covered porch. 2-car detached garage with concrete floor. Large back yard, mature landscaping, and great privacy.

“What’s the listing price again?” I scrunched my eyebrows as I checked out the crumbling roof of the dilapidated Victorian. What I could see of it, anyway. The five-acre lot was overrun with vegetation. Mature landscaping and great privacy, the listing stated. I snorted. That was real estate speak for looks like an Amazon jungle and good luck even finding the house. We were lucky someone had already hacked a path up to the house. The only part of the house visible from the driveway was the roof.

“Well, the bank is hoping to get at least thirty K. The land itself is worth that.” The real estate agent’s tone of voice and expression both told me he didn’t think they’d get that much.

“I can’t imagine the inside is much better than the outside.” With a roof this bad, the water damage had to be extensive, which meant a complete gut and reno.

“You never know what hidden gems are found in these old places.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How long has it been vacant?”

The agent sighed. “As far as we can tell, thirty years.”

I whistled. “That’s a long time. What’s the story here? Why was it abandoned? Why is the bank selling it now, after all this time?”

He huffed and crossed his arms. “Look, I don’t know a damn thing about this place other than the county has been cracking down on zombie homes and wanting them either bulldozed or fixed up. So, I got stuck trying to offload this piece of shit along with ten others like it. I have to do ten times the work to get the commission I usually get off of one house in this area. Do you want to see it or not?”

“Sheesh. Quite the sales pitch you have there.”

He ran his hand through his jet-black hair. “I’m sorry. I’ve had a really crappy day and shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Yeah, well I do want to see it, so let’s see what I’m getting myself into,” I replied and started down the path. Plans already swarmed around my head, like the black flies I kept swatting away. The first step would be to get the yard into something manageable.

First step? This was supposed to be a scouting mission, not a done deal. What the hell was I thinking? I had the money to buy something nice and move-in ready. Instead, I found myself drawn to abandoned houses and the thought of restoring one to its former glory. It was a nice idea in theory, but in reality, I wasn’t sure I was up for the amount of work it would take.

This was David’s dream, not mine. Maybe that’s why I felt so compelled to do this. It was a way to honor David. I shoved a leafy branch out of my way and tried to push thoughts of my deceased husband out of my mind. I almost smacked right into the porch since there was no relief from the dense vegetation, even when the house appeared out of seemingly nowhere. The crabby real estate agent ran into me, forcing me to step forward and grab the peeling, rotting railing.

“What the fuck?” he grumbled.

I was tempted to spend a couple of hours here and not buy the place just to waste this asshole’s time. Gray paint chips littered the wooden floor of the wraparound porch. The ceiling sagged so low it almost touched the floor in places due to rotted, broken supports. The path had ended at a bit of an angle to the front steps, so I still couldn’t get a good view of the place, but to the left of where we were standing, there was what looked like a round turret of sorts. The trim surrounding the broken window was scalloped, with intricately carved flowers inside each curve. A flowered vine spilled out from inside the house, through the window, and onto the porch. The white blooms looked quite similar to the ones on the molding. There was life in this place, despite the decay. The contrast almost overwhelmed me. The house must have been beautiful in its heyday. A pang of sadness stabbed through me. What circumstances had led to such a beauty being abandoned and left for the earth to reclaim?

After the landscaping was taken care of and the house was accessible, the next step would be to tear down the porch and rebuild it. We would need a safe entrance before work could start inside. The scalloped molding could be salvaged. With a lot of sanding and some new paint, it would look as good as new. I mentally slapped myself. What the hell? I was thinking like I was actually going to go through with this! Anyone who wanted to tackle this shit show of a house was crazy! It needed to be bulldozed, not restored.

I stepped sideways over to the stairs and carefully tested each one before putting my full weight on it. The last thing I needed was to put my foot through a rotten step. Surprisingly, they all held, and I raised my head once I stood on the porch. I gasped and put my hand over my mouth. I strode immediately up to the front door, not even considering my safety, and placed a trembling hand on its surprisingly smooth surface. I pressed my cheek against the cold wood and remembered something David said during one of his last days.

"I read something once about how people who have passed on visit their loved ones in dreams. They said to look for a certain thing, and when you see that thing in a dream, you'll know you've been visited. When you dream, look for a purple door. When you open it, I'll be there."

David’s favorite color was purple. He always said it reminded him of royalty and magic and possibilities. It was the obvious choice for his dream door. The color of this door was brighter than dark violet, but more purple than lavender. It was ridiculously out of place with the rest of the house and remarkably preserved. I blinked away tears as I ran my hand up and down the purple paint, imagining David’s stubble as my fingers found the rough spots in the wood.

“Um… are you okay?” the real estate agent asked.

I turned toward him and smiled. “I’ll take it.”

It took over a month to clear the yard once the sale was finalized. I did most of it myself, but my good friend Marshall helped, and I paid specialists to remove the trees that were too big for us to handle safely on our own. The looks they all gave me showed what they thought of my endeavor. Maybe I was nuts, but I felt compelled to restore this place. I needed something to do in my retirement, and it was better than moping around the house all day. Besides, through it all was that purple door, reminding me of David’s promise.

Despite having owned the house for over a month, I hadn’t actually gone through that door yet. I used the entrance off the kitchen when I checked out the interior, and every time since. I told myself it was because I wanted the porch fixed first, and that couldn’t happen until the landscape was under control. But I knew I was full of shit.

I had a structural engineer scheduled to come look at the place, and now that the jungle surrounding it had been tamed and Marshall and I had reinforced the porch by the front entrance, there were no more excuses. I inhaled deeply and held my breath as I placed my trembling hand on the purple paint. I exhaled and slid my hand down to the knob and turned. David’s voice echoed through my head as I pushed the purple door open and looked inside.

When you dream, look for a purple door. When you open it, I’ll be there.

I don’t know what I truly expected to find past that door. Did I really think it was a magic portal where David would be waiting to greet me with open arms? Or to feel a cold gust of wind as his spirit surrounded me?

I snorted.

This was no dream but harsh reality. Was it really all that surprising to find nothing but decay? I sighed and took a tentative step inside. The once-burnished, hardwood floor creaked under my weight but held. I pushed away the disappointment threatening to overwhelm me; I was a fool to feel it in the first place.

I took bolder steps around the room, re-surveying the damage and trying to envision it in its prime. The floor was in better shape than the ceiling, although that wasn’t saying much. The roof was so bad that water damage permeated all the way down to the first-floor ceiling. Parts of the ceiling had caved in, leaving a gaping hole as if a cartoon character had plummeted through it, only to pick itself up and continue its mayhem. Underneath the dirt and grime, there looked to be a salvageable fireplace. The mantel would likely have to be replaced, although the intricate carvings of what looked like daisies and cherubs made it worth looking into restoring. The firepit was surrounded by small, hunter green tiles surrounding larger ones. The larger ones in the middle contained images of a grapevine, starting with its roots on the floor in front of the pit, then weaving their way up both sides to meet at a bunch of grapes in the middle below the mantel. Those would definitely be kept and made new again.

There were built-in bookshelves on either side of the fireplace. Another easy restoration. I could refinish the lower boards and replace the ones on top that had suffered significant water damage. The windows above the bookcases were broken, yet somehow the decorative stained glass above the windows remained intact. The designer of this house must have loved flowers. The stained glass featured a bright red rose in the middle, surrounded by leaves the same color as the fireplace tile. My heart beat faster as I saw possibilities instead of destruction.

I turned toward the kitchen, which was off the living room to the left, when I heard footsteps. There was the door at the back of the kitchen, so I figured it was the engineer, who had arrived and entered that way.

“Mr. Sauer?”

I jumped at the voice behind me and spun around. A tall, slim man wearing blue jeans and a light-blue- checkered, button-down shirt stood in the doorway, holding a clipboard. I looked at the kitchen, then at who I assumed was the engineer, and frowned. What the hell had I heard?

“I’m Frank Miller from Miller Structural Designs. We have a one o’clock appointment?”

“Sorry, yes; please call me Greg.”

“I took a walk around the perimeter of the place and would like to see the basement next. We’ll work our way up from there.”

“Sounds good. Just let me know what you need.”

“Where is the basement entrance?” He tapped his pen on the clipboard as he looked around the living room. I could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“Off the kitchen.” I gestured to the left of us.

Frank nodded. “Gotcha. That’s pretty common for houses of this era. So, I’m curious. Why do you want to restore this place? Honestly, it will probably be a lot cheaper to bulldoze it and build something new.”

We both jumped when debris from the hole in the ceiling fell onto the floor with a resounding crash. Frank took a step backward.

“It was actually my husband’s idea. He loved restoring old things and watching shows about restoring abandoned houses. We were lucky enough to retire early, and the plan was to do some traveling and then look for a house to renovate. Unfortunately, cancer took away all the plans we made. I saw an ad for this house and decided to take a look on a whim, and, well, here we are.” I gestured to the room.

“Wow. I’m sorry for your loss. I can relate to wanting to restore abandoned houses. It’s something I’ve dreamed of doing myself. It’ll be a while before I can attempt something like this though. I have two teenagers to put through college, so there goes all my money.” He grimaced. “Have you seen any pictures of it when it was new?”

I shook my head. “I wasn’t able to find out much about it. Pretty much just the names of the previous owners and when it was built.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I was able to find a newspaper article about it when I was searching for the plans.” He removed a piece of paper from his clipboard and handed it to me. “You can keep it. I can always print off another one.”

“Great, thank you!” I glanced at the picture of the house in its prime, with a man, a woman, and a small child standing proudly in front of it. I’d have to read it later, but seeing it brought a smile to my face.

“Shall we get started?” Frank headed toward the kitchen, and I followed.

Frank surprised the hell out of me. Up until this point, I’d been met with nothing but incredulity and doubt from everyone who saw the place. I can’t say I blame them, but it was really demotivating. Marshall was the only one who showed me any kind of support, but I could tell that even he thought I was nuts. Frank was a fount of knowledge, and his enthusiasm for the project was infectious and restored my faith that I made the right decision.

Thankfully, he declared the house structurally sound. Beneath the decades of decay were good bones, which meant we had something to build off of. I hired him that day to be my advisor and designer, and he enthusiastically accepted.

We started with the roof. There was no point in doing any work inside until there were no more gaping holes for rain to pour through. Marshall helped me tear down the porch roof, which saved me a little bit of money, and I hired a roofing company to replace the main roof on top of the house. Replacing the porch roof could wait. Seeing the gray slate tiles once they were finished brought a huge smile to my face. It made the house look less sad.

A curious thing happened while the roofers were working. I was at Home Depot while this happened, so I found out about it secondhand. One of the roofers dropped a hammer, which clattered down to the porch without hitting anyone, thankfully. Marshall had been working in the living room, removing and replacing the rotted portions of the hardwood floor when he heard the racket as the tool careened down the side of the house. He thought one of the roofers fell. When he got outside, however, he found nothing. It wasn’t until the workers retired for the day that he found out the rest of the story.

After the worker dropped the hammer, he grudgingly moved toward the ladder to go retrieve it. To his amazement, he almost tripped over the hammer since it was right beside him. It was a mystery, since both men clearly heard it fall. They chalked it up to overwork and a lack of coffee. I wasn’t so sure.

Once the roof was completed, Frank said the next priority should be the windows and gutters. We needed to keep water as far away from the house as possible. Installing the gutters was pretty easy. The windows…not so much. There were a lot of them, and it wasn’t a matter of simply replacing the window frame and panes, but also the rotted and crumbling sills and woodwork surrounding them. I quickly realized my estimate of having the house restored in two years was insanely wrong. This house would be my life for the foreseeable future.

It was an overwhelming feeling, and I wondered if I’d made a colossal mistake. At the end of a particularly frustrating day, l leaned back against my black pickup and crossed my arms, sighing. The new roof, gutters, and few windows we had managed to replace only highlighted the rest of the decay. The brilliant shades of red and orange of the sunset behind the place seemed to mock the house. Marshall placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Want to talk about it?”

I shook my head. “Sometimes, I wonder what the fuck I was thinking.”

Marshall laughed. “Hell, I wonder that, too.”

I gave him my best stink-eye. “You are so incredibly helpful. Thanks.”

“Seriously, though. This is a huge undertaking, and it’s understandable to get overwhelmed sometimes. I wish I could help more, but well, you know. There’s this stupid thing called work I have to do. Not all of us can retire early.” He bumped my shoulder with his.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Trust me, there are days I wish I was back at work.”

“So, what keeps you going?”

“What do you mean?”

He gestured toward the house. “With this. What’s your motivation? Why are you pouring all your time and money into this? It’s more than just renovating a house. So, the question is: why?”

I frowned. “You know why.”

Marshall raised an eyebrow. “Is David’s dream that important to you?”

“It was my dream, too.” I shrugged. “This is more than David.” I wasn’t sure I believed myself, and the look on Marshall’s face told me he wasn’t buying it either. Despite him being my best friend, I couldn’t tell him about the purple door and its significance. Not yet.

“Let’s take the day off tomorrow. I’ll call into work, and you stay away from here. We’ll stay at my place, order every kind of take-out we can think of, and watch movies all day. Nothing even resembling work.”

I smiled. “Deal.”

The fading sun briefly reflected on Marshall’s face as he stared at the house intently. His white hair was pulled back into a ponytail, making him look like an aging hippie, even though he totally wasn’t.

“There weren’t any workers here today, right?”

“No, why?”

“Huh. I swore I saw someone in the upstairs window.”

I looked but didn’t see anything. “Strange.”

Marshall shrugged. “See you tomorrow. Not too early.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

Marshall headed off to his car, but I remained a few minutes longer, staring at the window, wondering – hoping I’d see something.

David?

Nah. The only ghosts here were in my head and my heart.

I met Josef that winter. Meeting him changed my life and the way I looked at the house in ways I never envisioned. After realizing my timeline was off by a factor of years, not months, I decided my finances couldn’t handle paying expenses for both of my houses, so I moved into the Money Pit, as Marshall called it. I wanted to call it something more pleasant, but the only thing that came to mind was Sauerwood, and that sounded too much like fermented cabbage.

After we finished installing the windows, we redid the downstairs bedroom, making sure it had working electricity and plumbing and enough insulation to keep me warm when the weather turned. We also brought a stove and fridge into the kitchen, so I had a rudimentary place to cook and eat. Neither one was pretty, but they were functional, which was all I needed.

I shifted my focus to clearing out the home I’d shared with David for so many years. David had loved working around the house. He was constantly finding projects to do and rearranging and repainting rooms. He built the deck off the back of our house and refinished just about every piece of furniture we owned. Well, I helped, too, but wasn’t nearly as skilled as my husband was. When I covered the walnut Queen Anne style dressing table David had refinished and put in our entranceway, it felt like a physical stab to my heart. The cabriole legs jutted out as if it was getting ready to scurry away. The simple, scalloped ornamentation adorning the bottom of the piece gave it character. David loved it the minute he’d seen it moldering away in a second-hand store. It was my favorite of all the pieces he’d restored. Remembering his joy when it was finished made the ache of missing him so much worse.

When I first started packing up the house, I was miserable. Every piece of clothing, knickknack, and furniture held memories of David. Renovating Sauerwood had allowed me to take my mind off of grieving and spend my days away from the life we had together and our plans that would never take place. Sending the tables, chairs, and bookshelves David had so lovingly restored into storage felt like I was back at the funeral, relegating his coffin to the earth. Selling the house that had meant so much to both of us felt like betrayal.

These feelings were compounded by an overwhelming sense of guilt. Being around Marshall so much was stirring up feelings I had long suppressed. We were best friends, but there was a time when we had potential to be much more. Then I met David and made my choice, and Marshall and I remained the closest of friends.

Everything came to a head once everything was moved out of the old place. Marshall had taken a week off of work to help me pack and bring everything either to storage or to Sauerwood. I really needed to think of a new name for it! To say I was unpleasant to be around was an understatement. I seriously don’t know how he put up with me. Turns out, he didn’t, either.

We didn’t end up needing a full week to move everything, so we decided to spend the remaining days of his time off working at Sauerwood. After griping at him for the millionth time that day—I honestly can’t even remember what it was about—we decided to work on different parts of the house to give each other some space. Poor Frank had joined us and was helping me put drywall up in one of the upstairs bedrooms while Marshall worked on the bookcases in the living room. At least, that’s what I thought he was doing.

Frank and I headed downstairs to take a break and grab some drinks. I heard scraping coming from the porch, so went to check it out. I found Marshall hard at work on the front door, removing the purple paint. Something inside me snapped, and I crossed a line I hadn’t even known existed in our friendship.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I screeched.

Marshall turned toward me, scowling. “This door is hideous. It doesn’t go with the rest of the house at all. It desperately needs to be refinished. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

“A favor? I don’t need those kinds of favors! Why the hell wouldn’t you ask me first? I can’t believe you did this!” I’d never been more angry in my life. Spittle flew from my mouth, and I clenched my hands into fists. The chips of purple paint littered the floor, shards of a broken dream.

Marshall set the scraper down, then wordlessly stood and stepped off the porch and walked to his car, his back rigid.

Poor Frank didn’t know what to do. He excused himself, then headed to his own vehicle. I collapsed to my knees, wondering if I had just ruined two friendships. The irrational part of my brain thought Marshall had ruined any chance of me reuniting with David. Even though the paint was only partly destroyed, in my grief-stricken state, I thought the magic of the purple door was forever tainted.

The restored, stained-glass windows had been installed next to the fireplace the day before. Later that evening, after my blow-up over the door, I stood in the center of the living room and watched as the sunlight blazed through them, throwing colors and the shape of the flower onto the refinished floor. The effect was stunning but felt hollow without someone to share it with.

“Not too bad. Passable, I would say. Pretty close to the original, but the colors are a bit off,” a voice stated with a faint Germanic accent.

I jumped and whirled around, heart pounding. How the fuck had someone gotten in here?

There was no one there. Damn, I was losing my mind!

“Who said that?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“I have always been here, but you never cared to look.”

A chill traveled down my spine. What.The.Actual.Fuck?

I turned back toward the fireplace and saw a man standing next to it, looking at the stained glass. He wore a black suit and had black, short-cropped hair. He turned toward me and smiled. “Ja, it will do nicely. Much better than before.”

“Who… who are you?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“My name is Josef Manheim. I built this house.”

I recognized the name from the deed. “But you’re—”

“Dead. Ja. I’ve been here ever since. It hurt my soul to see my beauty decaying like my own flesh.”

Eew.

“I am so happy you decided to restore my treasure instead of destroying it. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

“You’re…welcome?” I replied.

“I saw the incident with your friend earlier.” He shook his head and tsked softly. “Why such a fuss over the color of a door?”

“It’s… well, it’s, uh, hard to explain,” I mumbled.

Josef laughed. “I have nothing but time. Tell me.”

I found myself pouring my heart out to a ghost. I told him about David and how we met and his promise about the purple door.

“You’re a ghost,” I said, an idea forming in my mind. “Is David there with you?” I asked hopefully.

“I don’t have the answers you seek. I’m the only one here. Not even my wife and children are with me. The purple door is just a door. There is no David here.”

I think that’s the moment when I realized David was truly gone. Even though I’d told myself I didn’t really believe in the folly of the purple door, clearly I had.

“If I were you, I would apologize to that nice man who’s been helping you out here,” Josef stated.

I nodded, unable to form words.

“He’s clearly smitten with you, you know.”

I raised my head to look at him, but he was gone.

I called Marshall the next morning. I had to call twice because he didn’t answer the first time.

“Hey, Marsh.”

“Greg, listen. You have a choice. You can wield David’s memory like a weapon and use it as an excuse to be an asshole to everyone around you and be miserable the rest of your life. Or you can look fondly back at a love you were damn lucky to have. Not everybody is fortunate enough to experience that in their life.”

Marshall had been single for as long as I knew him. His voice sounded strained as he continued, “When you figure out which one you want, then we can talk. Otherwise, fuck off.” He ended the call.

His words were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head. I’d been acting like an asshole to him even before the door incident.

Damn if he wasn’t right.

I made a choice that day, and I chose to change for the better. Instead of looking at everything like a dirge, I tried to do as Marshall said and find the joy in the things that provoked memories of my life with David. Of course, the pain was still there, but this time I embraced it instead of hiding from it.

The first step to repairing my friendship with Marshall was to tell him about David’s promise and what the purple door meant to me. He embraced me, squeezing me tightly. It felt so right to be in someone’s arms again.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Talking about it would break the illusion. I wanted to believe.”

“Do you want to paint the door a different color?”

I shook my head. “No. That purple door is an integral part of the place and important to David’s memory. He may not actually be behind it, but he’s still there every time I open it—if that makes sense.”

Marshall smiled. “How about we go shopping for some purple paint?”

It took two years to get the upstairs ready for painting. Anything rotten had been removed, drywall installed, and the floors refinished. I couldn’t wait until the downstairs looked the same. Josef helped me pick the colors. I wanted to stay as true to the original house as possible. He helped with a lot of little details, too, like the best way to refinish the fireplace mantel and trim around the door. Thankfully, my fit about the door hadn’t driven Frank away, and he remained on board to help as well.

On the day we were supposed to start painting, I could tell something was off with Marshall. He worked quietly, shoulders slumped. Nothing like his usual, positive, poised self.

“What’s going on with you?” I asked.

He shrugged and continued painting.

“Stop,” I said. “Sit down and let’s take a break.”

“I don’t need a break.”

Yeah, he did.

“I’m your best friend, right? I know you. What’s wrong?”

He flinched and slowly turned to face me. “I’ve been thinking about retiring.”

I wasn’t surprised. He hated his job. But I also knew he wasn’t financially ready to retire.

“That would be fantastic if you could. But can you afford it?”

He shook his head slowly. “I can’t take it at work anymore. The atmosphere there is so toxic. But I can’t start fresh somewhere else. I’m too old. I feel like I’m suffocating, and I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s that bad, huh?” I asked gently.

“Yeah, it’s that bad.”

An idea popped into my head. A crazy, wonderful, maybe stupid idea. Why hadn’t I thought of it before?

“Move in here. Sell your house. With what you already have saved, you should be able to live comfortably off that.”

He looked at me like I had antlers and had sprouted wings.

I laughed. “You’ve put just as much work into this place as I have. I mean, I know you’re my best friend and all, but damn….” My heart pounded. He was so much more than a best friend.

He shook his head. “Thank you, really, thanks, but I can’t.”

I frowned. “Why not? You can leave that shit show of a job, and I won’t be here alone anymore. Neither will you.” Marshall had lived alone for as long as I knew him.

I realized Marshall was just as much a part of this place as I was. The thought of living here without him after it was finished caused a pang in my heart. I stepped closer to him. “You have some paint on your face,” I said softly, brushing my fingers across his cheek.

He closed his eyes. “Greg… don’t.”

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”

Marshall opened his eyes, and a tear ran down his cheek, mixing with the ochre paint. “I… I…”

I smiled. “Say yes.”

He nodded. “Yes,” he whispered as I moved even closer and kissed him.

*****
The porch swing creaked softly as I moved it back and forth gently with my leg. The green lawn was a vibrant contrast against the bright reds and oranges of the setting sun. Colorful flowers lined the front of the porch and baskets of geraniums and violets hung from the porch roof supports. The final product was better than anything I had envisioned that first day I stood on the crumbling porch. In fact, then I never imagined things would have turned out the way they did. Opening that purple door hadn’t led to the ghost of my husband but rather to the path I needed to follow in order to heal and move on.

“Tea?” Marshall held out a steaming cup of a hot herbal concoction.

“Mmm. That smells fantastic.” I wrapped my hands around the warm mug.

He sat next to me and sipped his own brew.

“Ten years. Can you believe it? The house is finally done,” I stated proudly.

“And eight years for us,” Marshall replied.

I held up my mug and we clinked them together. “Happy anniversary.”

“Happy anniversary,” Marshall replied.

“Happy anniversary,” Josef stated, smiling.