Up the Hill to Home. Jennifer Bort Yacovissi

side, Charley’s stomach hurts. He has watched keenly as Joe has gone from curious expectation to stifled laughter to open stupefaction inside of a minute. He can’t bring himself to look at Emma; it’s all happening just as he’s feared. But as they finally reach Joe, a wondrous thing happens: Emma extends her hand, and in a warm, cheerful voice, says, “Joe, I’m Emma. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Charley swivels to look at her, and he can’t think he’s ever seen a lovelier smile.

      Disarmed by the friendly welcome, Joe responds immediately with his own genuine smile and says, “Me, too, Miss Emma. I was beginning to think we might never meet.”

      “I was beginning to wonder the same thing myself.”

      They both look expectantly at Charley, who spends a second with his eyebrow raised, looking back. Then he bursts out laughing. “Well, what a relief that we can all stop wondering now! My only wonder is what Mrs. G might have packed in that basket you’ve been carting around. Maybe we can take a minute and just see what, before the ants carry it off.” He continues to chuckle to himself, and shake his head as he kneels down on the tablecloth. “My, my, aren’t you two a pair.”

      Building 741

      1893

      The plan leaps out of the gate like horses at the track. The owner of the land is willing to hold the note, and recommends an architect, F. H. Kemght. In a happy coincidence, the builder that Charley plans to hire—George Dove, a childhood friend of his older brother Clarence—works with Mr. Kemght on a regular basis. Together, Charley and Emma sketch out the initial drawings, which Mr. Kemght refines into blueprints, and George fills in with the particulars needed to build the house. As the project evolves, Charley and Emma find that they work together well: their tastes are similar, they often see the same issues and possibilities, and each is willing to listen to the other when there is a difference of opinion. Eventually, Charley stops being surprised at how quick a study Emma proves to be concerning the ins and outs of designing and building a house.

      This same partnership proves to be true in the matter of finances. Maybe if either of them had any acquaintance with how other people’s relationships work, they would realize that money is not something that couples talk about. Unless she comes from a wealthy family, a girl typically doesn’t have any money to speak of, and her intended doesn’t speak of his at all, either before or after the wedding. Even if Emma and Charley realize any of this, it doesn’t change anything. Neither of them harbor any romantic notions of the life they are undertaking; they need to be practical, and so they are.

      Charley lives a frugal existence, and has saved since he began earning pocket change by threshing neighbors’ fields or mucking stables. But Emma more than matches him in parsimony, and has a head start on him when it comes to savings. Because they aren’t yet married, official paperwork demands that only one of their names show up on the deed, and because Emma is the one with the most earnest money to put down, hers is it. The landowner, Mr. Groff, is somewhat taken aback by this—even though plenty of surrounding acreage is held by women—but the check is good, which means the money is green, and that is all that counts. They work with Mr. Groff’s attorney to set up a monthly payment plan that will eventually account for the full four thousand dollars plus interest that the lot costs them. The day they sign the final papers and officially become landowners, they celebrate by having a supper of cold chicken, potato salad, and apple-filled ebelskivers while sitting on a felled tree trunk near the front of the property.

      The light of the spring evening is growing softer. Charley, his dinner only partially eaten, cannot stop scanning what is now his small piece of the earth. He paces in the clearing near the stump, and every so often puts together the steps of a little jig when he feels that he might otherwise burst. He is overwhelmed by a sense of pride that even he has not anticipated. “Oh, Emma, think of it! We’ll put the vegetable garden over toward the southeast—good sunlight but not blazing hot in the summer—some fruit trees, flower beds in the empty spots. I know you’ll like that, won’t you? The house goes right here; we’re practically sitting on the front porch! Since it’s close to the street, we’ll need to put in a little fence—something low so that it’s friendly but still lends the necessary separation.” He finally pauses, and lets out the long whistle of a happy man. “Can’t you just see it?”

      The truth of the matter is that Emma can’t see it at all. She hears the words, and the excitement in Charley’s voice, but she is unable to cast a vision in her own head. She finds this is true whenever she attempts to picture her future as it now presents itself. She is to be a married woman, the mistress of her own household, with a home and land that belong solely to her and her husband. Husband. None of these ideas resonate with her; after all, half her life has been spent in the certainty that these outcomes are unavailable to her. Picturing them has been pointless, even painful, when her future seemed fixed and unchangeable. Now, almost every day brings experiences she has never imagined, and she remains incapable of anticipating them. Sharing supper with her fiancé at the edge of their newly purchased property is but a small example. So she just smiles at Charley in his overflowing ebullience. “It’s enough that you can.”

      cd

      Mr. Warner is a reasonable boss, fair and willing to look out for his subordinates, as long as they are punctual, put in a solid day’s work, and remain respectful. He is among the many in the office who wonder aloud at the turn of events that sees Emma with a young man and an obvious intent to get married, quite beyond anyone’s concept of feasibility. Mr. Warner can’t wonder aloud among the office staff, since that would be fraternizing, so instead he shares with his wife the story as it continues to unfold. He can count on her eager attention to each new detail and periodic exclamations of amazement as he recounts the most recent developments.

      Mr. Warner’s agreeability makes it much easier for Emma to apply for the permit than it is for Charley, whose own boss Mr. Grimsley would never allow him to take leave during work hours, which is the only time the permits office is open. Mr. Grimsley communicates primarily in growls and barks, and sometimes in a full-fledged howl. The men in the shop presume that he hopes this management style intimidates his subordinates enough to keep them from noticing his thorough incompetence; the strategy is unsuccessful. “Old Grim,” they say when they hear him gearing up again in the distance, “like nails on a blackboard.” Charley chuckles and says, “Like sand in your boots.”

      And so it is that Emma asks and Mr. Warner gives his permission for her to leave the building for an extended midday lunch break so that she might apply for a building permit. She arranges in advance to meet George at the service counter of the office of the Inspector of Buildings to make application. A very pleasant older gentleman named Mr. Raymond meets with them to fill out the paperwork. George hands him a copy of the deed and a set of blueprints, and they walk over to a large drafting table that allows Mr. Raymond to unroll the plans; a leather-encased weight holds down each corner as he begins to fill in the permit form. From her vantage point, Emma is reading upside down, but she can still follow along.

      APPLICATION FOR PERMIT TO BUILD

      Brick and Stone

      Washington, D. C. May 15 189 3 .

      To the INSPECTOR OF BUILDINGS:

      The undersigned hereby applies for a permit to build according to the following specifications:

      1. State how many buildings to be erected: one

      2. Material: frame .

      3. What is the Owner’s name? Emma L. Miller

      Mr. Raymond looks up quizzically. “My name is on the deed,” Emma says, and nods toward the paper in front of him.

      “So I see.” He looks back to the form, and reads snippets aloud to himself in order to keep his place. “Architect...Builder...Location.” His finger traces down the top sheet of the blueprints until he finds the notation. “Lot 8, Block 22, northeast corner Flint and Eighth Streets, Brightwood Park.” He looks up at Emma and smiles. “Oh, that’s a lovely area.” He continues on. “Purpose? A dwelling...One family...26 feet front...28 feet deep...two stories...brick foundation...shingle