Mrs. Wood's Place

 

Mrs. Wood's Place

By Mary Anne Simpson

I am Mrs. Eugenia Wood the dowager of Ogden Mansion. Our family estate has spanned over a century in common man years. We are not advocates of change and prefer tradition. The tell-tale signs of a new tenant are apparent; the pungent smells of Lysol, Clorox and a supermarket Rug Doctor contraption clattering down the hall. Mr. White's unmistakable shuffling to and fro on the carefully hewn oak floors.

"We've got two days to whip this place into shape, Jimmy," said Mr. White.

"No sweat", Jimmy said.

Outside the deafening sounds of a leaf blower and power mower were removing the last vestiges of autumn. A cold chill crept through the vintage window casings and the steam boiler rattled with every attempt to start up. A few snow flurries yesterday and assurances that a blast of Arctic air and a blizzard was due any day. My place can withstand the harshest of winters and the sizzling heat of summer. If only they would leave us alone.

In the early1900s my estate was the center of every festive event in the city. The mansion was built for Henry Ogden, a railroad tycoon and owner of Ogden Enterprises. He was the richest man in the city and some said he was the richest man west of the Mississippi. It was the first private residence with indoor plumbing, electricity and boasted 14 bedrooms. The entryway was constructed with Italian marble shipped by rail car from a port in Seattle. Gold plated faucets, sinks and gold leaf filigree ornaments challenged the depository at Fort Knox.

Ogden was a ladies man as the story goes my place currently known as 2B was his love parlor. Many tipsy love interests passed out and were helped into cars in the wee hours of the night while Mrs. Henry Ogden slept. Five kids and a beautiful wife and old Henry sleazing around and nobody notice, except us of course. That's how our family came into our Wood's Crown Jewels. Grandmother Wood called it the Trollops Booty.

The Ogden mansion fell on hard times after Henry Ogden went bust in the crash of 29. He and his family moved back East and the mansion was stripped of anything salvageable for some cash. Several ne'er-do-wells were the highest bidders at the foreclosure sale, but nobody occupied my place.

Decades went by and finally Ogden mansion was boarded up. Sometime in the 1970s some real estate moron renovated the old mansion and created Ogden Arms apartments. Most of the units were convenience apartments and a few were designated one-bedroom luxury apartments.

"We'll have this place ship-shape for you Miss Pristine," said Mr. White. He was sweating and looked red in the face as he showed the new tenant 2B. It's been closed up for quite awhile, but all it needs is some fresh air and a good cleaning."

"I smell something like dust and mold," said Miss Pristine. "I have a keen nose and I sure hope you are able to get rid of that smell." "I have several places to choose from, but I like the view and the charm of this apartment." She brushed aside an itsy bitsy cob web with her lily white hand as she bounded down the oak stairs.

Well, that won't be too hard. I have enough dust, old junk and torn up upholstery in my place to send her fleeing to the next choice. My grandmother told me and her grandmother told her, "Never underestimate the power of the Wood family." I inherited a treasure trove of tiaras, bracelets, earrings and rings that would make the Royals jealous. We are a crafty and resourceful family. Many maids and housekeepers were fired for stealing guest's jewelry. No one suspected the Wood's family. I will employ Plan B and send Miss keen-nose screaming out the door.

The grandfather clock chimed twelve times as the Wood's family gathered in the parlor. "My dear ones, we have a problem. I gave them the terrible details. It seems our beautiful family gathering place is being invaded by a persnickety stranger. Our family has and always will be the tradition keepers of this house. We have a duty entrusted to us by the Spirit to preserve and protect our heritage until the last wall and floor board rots into the earth. I need all of you to rustle up some dust and some foul odors, post haste."

"Oh Auntie-how terrible," chimed the young Wood nephews and nieces. "Whatever can we do?"

"We will do what we have always done-we will prevail," I assured the young ones.

"I will manage the collection of odorous material," said Cousin Ollie. I recall great-grandpa Clyde telling us about the 1985 invasion. The Wood family had to hide out in the old carriage house for months until the insurgents finally gave up. Our Mexican cousins were all captured and deported-caged up just like animals. Unlike our branch of the family they don't have our camouflage.

We need to nip this attack on our way of life with the force and fury only our family name can wager."

"Good show, my darlings, we will triumph," I assured everyone.

We scampered all through the night from the basement to the attic portico. The Wood younglings strategically placed dust, mold and rotten material in the heating ducts in apartment 2B. It was a fast and furious operation.

Late in the afternoon, Miss keen-nose and Mr. White showed up with a couple of moving men in tow.

"It's clean as a watchmaker's tool kit," said Mr. White.

"I'd like to check out the plumbing and heating, if you don't mind," said Miss Pristine.

"There's hot water, said Mr. White as he turned on the kitchen faucet and then moved to the bathroom-hot water. The boiler is nearly new; it was reconditioned two-years ago. Mr. White turned on the heater."

"Oh my God! Miss Pristine gasping for air and screeching at the same time screamed, "Oh my God, what is that horrendous smell?"

"Hey Man, you've got wood rats or some people call'em pack rats," said the blue coverall moving man.

"What are you talking about? Mr. White said as his face had turned from blood red to pure white in 60 seconds flat. We have squirrels-not pack rats."

"We see it all the time in old buildings, said the other moving man. Our northern bushy tail pack rats look like squirrels, but you've got pack rats, bud-the unmistakable smell." "It's going to cost you a pretty penny to get rid of them-they're in the walls and probably all through the house and basement."

Miss Pristine was last seen, racing out the door and sitting in the moving van talking on her cell phone.

A gentle snow began to fall. The moving van's breaks screeched as it exited the driveway and never came back.

 As the old mansion quieted down late in the evening the Wood's family gathered in my parlor. Silver plates adorned with fruits, nuts and a discarded fruitcake were passed around. We partied like Sammy Davis Jr. and Frank Sinatra's famous Rat Pack.

I wore my precious silver and gold jewelry. Around midnight we sang our favorite song, we did it, we did it, and we doggone did it.

The grandfather clock stopped chiming sometime that year. The annoying intrusions by strangers came to a halt and like his predecessors Mr. White retired somewhere else. The annoying clanking of the steam boiler ceased. The Wood's family life went back to normal. At last there was peace and quiet in apartment 2B and throughout my place.