Читать книгу I Will Not Leave You Comfortless - Jeremy Jackson - Страница 13

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We brought the horses’ tack into the house in the middle of that December, for winter storage, tucked it all into the study, and if you had been outside for a while and came back into the house, you would smell oiled leather—the English and western saddles, the bridles, the long loops of reins.

Our farmhouse was small. Upstairs was my room, open to the stairwell, and the girls’ room. There was a right-of-way along the edge of my room leading to the girls’ room. Inside their room, Susan and Elizabeth had separate desks and dressers, though they shared a trundle bed. They divided the room with a curtain of hanging beads. They had their own bathroom, with a little window that opened outward like a garage door swinging up.

Downstairs was the living room—underneath my room—and the study. The living room was the oldest part of the house, and a couple of long cracks in the plaster and a finger-wide gap in the floorboards showed that the room intended to separate from the rest of the house. We stuffed the gap with foam to keep the cold air out.