The Attic

“ You will love it, it is so full of charm, and history, and mystery!”

The agent breathlessly led us through the door of the old farmhouse Jed and I had always dreamed of.

Boston had been our home, but we tired of the traffic jams, endless rhetoric about what we should believe to be free and happy, and the sense that we had become captive to a mantra of success, upper mobility, and ultimate, dominant fulfillment.

“What do you think, love?”, Jed sweetly asked, as I opened each of the creaking cabinets while swatting away the spiders that futilely thought they had found a home.

“Very charming”, I replied as the bubbly agent led us upstairs, fat commissions dancing in her eyes.

 “There are three bedrooms here-enough for children, if someday you decide it is what you want-here is the master bedroom-you must see the view”

We had both quit our jobs in Beantown and cashed in our 401k’s fattened by the stock market boom to make the down payment on the 80-year-old structure that overlooked the Kennebec River outside of the state capitol of Maine, Augusta.

“Here you can see the river from your bed-isn’t it majestic?”

Hmmm, didn’t know agents had such expansive vocabulary,

but yes, the bends and rapid flow of the early spring runoff took my breath away.

“Will there be flooding?”

The agent frowned and fidgeted, looking away she sputtered, “No, ma’am, since it’s construction that has never been an issue.”

Jed looked annoyed at my question, as a bred and borne Mainer this had been his idea.

“We can start a bed and breakfast and sell river rafting packages, and hikes and blueberry tours. We know dozens of people who would love it”.

The agent seeking her commission possibly dripping away stammered, “Well, there is flood insurance through FEMA, the federal agency, if you really think you need it, we can arrange that, if you like.”

Somewhat triumphantly Jed declared, “Yes,

let’s do that, Hannah, okay?”

I always loved how Jed said my name and my anxiety quickly melted away so we signed the contract to our new home and our new way of living.

Even though we never looked in the attic.

Two Weeks Later…

Just as we sat down for dinner, suddenly a breaking news alert alarm came across the evening news. In somber tones, the news woman announced, “the Polar Vortex continues to plunge southward as Texas, Mississippi, Alabama and even Florida experience sub-zero temperatures, but for New England, it’s nothing but heavy rain.”

 And just like that, a thunderbolt from the rumbling skies above signaled a torrential downpour. Marking the start of rain… all day, all night, and all month.

40 Days Later…

“We have to get to the attic!”, shouted Jed, as we waded through the knee-deep water flooding our master bedroom. We had tolerated the relentless rains and river flooding for weeks, even when they washed over the first floor, by moving furniture higher, plugging doorstops and windows with towels and bedsheets but water simply will go where it wants.

We were determined to save our dream home but that became impossible this morning when a dam upstream burst, sending a wall of water that shook our foundation, shattered windows and sent us fleeing in fright upstairs. But the water kept rising so we climbed to the attic staircase all the while fearing we would simply be swept away in the roiling, rising fury outside.

We had lost power, internet and phone service. We were simply on our own now as we crept up the creaking, shaky staircase. Jed pushed the attic door open and instantly inhaled a cloud of dust.

He nearly fell backward, gagging, spitting out years of neglectful cleaning.

“Are you okay, darling”, but Jed just kept on climbing up and I did not hesitate as the ever-circling waters now lapped at my ankles. Still sputtering, Jed turned to help pull me through the last steps before slamming the attic door shut.

“Now, we are trapped, Jed-where are we going to go if the water keeps rising? Look!”

In a panic, I pointed to the first pools of water seeping through the attic door.

 Jed pushed aside the boxes we had stored in the attic that we had yet to go through and pushed opened our toolbox, scattering an ancient, little black notebook I had placed on top of it. When we first moved in, I had found the worn black notebook lying in the corner on a box of old newspaper and mysterious documents.  Oddly, it had a rusted lock, but no key was in sight. Ever curious,  I had placed it on top of the toolbox, vowing to find a way to open it once we had cleaned up the attic. 

Furiously, Jed dug through the toolbox until he found the large claw hammer.  I stared again at the notebook, it felt as if it were luring me in… speaking to me…desperately asking me to save it from the murky waters.

“Hannah, would you please focus and help me pile the boxes up-I’m going to break through the roof!”

Yes, it would be the only way out of the windowless attic, but I shivered imagining us clinging to the roof exposed to the relentless rains and howling wind.

“Now Hannah! We have to get out of here!”

Shocked by Jed’s tone, but more startled by the murky littered water reaching up to my ankles, I snapped out of this trance and quickly slipped the little notebook into my jacket pocket and began shifting boxes over to Jed.

 I helped him scale the boxes so he could claw his way through the roof.

 It wasn’t easy with all those boxes shifting around in the water, but Jed  punched a hole just big enough for us to squeeze through. I didn’t even feel the sharp splintering cuts as the raw timbers scarred us from head to toe. We staggered to our feet on our precarious perch as the house began to sway, now nearly swallowed by the still, murky, rising waters. At last, I heard the whooshing of blades from the rapidly approaching rescue helicopter, I looked up at Jed with my hand on the notebook inside my pocket, and I whispered… “You did it, you saved us.”

 One Month Later…

“It’s a good thing you saved that little black notebook”, exclaimed our lawyer gleefully. Inside her wood-paneled Augusta offices, she laid out the documents we had found inside the notebook I’d finally managed to open after we got out of the hospital.

“It’s all here. The previous owner of the home had this diary explaining how he re-built the home after his family died in a flash flood 82-years ago. He was the only survivor. There are are land deeds, newspaper clippings of the disaster, flood maps and excavation studies proving you were living dead center in a floodplain notorious for historic 100-year floods.  Just came a little early this time.

The documents were all filed with the town, insurance companies and realtors-including yours!”

Jed sighed in disgust and looked at me bashfully. “I’m sorry, darling.”

I reached for his hand and smiled, “It’s not your fault, Jed.”

Our lawyer nodded agreeably, “That’s right, it’s your realtor’s fault!  Her agency had access to all these historical records and she failed to disclose them to you, as required by law. What is worse,  she pocketed the premium fee you paid her for your FEMA flood application, but never filed it, knowing FEMA would likely raise questions. She’s already been arrested on fraud charges. Her agency fired her, but we will sue them for loss of property, physical injury, emotional trauma, deceptive sales practices, fraud, and much more. The agency is a national chain with deep pockets and a reputation to protect.

They will either settle on our terms, or your sympathetic neighbors will convict them at trial where we will seek triple damages. We are going to win, and you will clear at least $20,000 over your losses.”

I laughed nervously, remembering the harrowing lift up a dangling rope weaving wildly in the rushing air, remembering last seeing our dream home collapse in the turbulent waters before being swept away with all our earthly belongings, remembering the scars on our legs and arms after squeezing through the narrow hole in the roof Jed had frantically clawed open. No, it had not been the end for us, but it had been damn close! We stood and shook hands and began to leave the office when the agent interrupted, “Oh, don’t forget this!” She grabbed the little black notebook from the table and handed it to me.

“Don’t worry, we photocopied everything. I’m sure you will want it as a keepsake.”

I smiled, and hand in hand with Jed, we walked out, future unknown, as I clutched the notebook to my chest.