He could spend hours looking at her and imagining her in her prime, with the weeds
cleared out of the fountains, the tangle of overgrown shrubs cut back and perfectly
groomed. There would be roses and flowers and funny shaped hedges set back across a
perfectly manicured green lawn. The fountains would burble merrily as you walked up the
grand curving steps and though they were gone now, probably stolen for scrap, there
would have been a stunning set of wrought iron railings that were hot from the sunshine
under his palm. Astor had imagined it so many times he didn’t even have to close his eyes
to see it anymore.
At the top of the steps, large arched doors with stained glass panels would swing open and
he would be welcomed in by a smiling butler wearing a black suit, with pristine white
gloves and perfectly shined shoes. He would step inside, into the atrium first, for if the old
mansion was a woman, the atrium was her face, airy and graceful and full of long
beautiful lines. The ceiling would be dizzyingly high above his head and a large crystal
chandelier would glitter radiantly in the sunlight from the tall windows, casting tiny
rainbows across the marble floors that shined beneath his feet. The air would be crisp and
clean and smelling faintly of the jasmine that grew in the garden. Ahead of him would be
three large archways leading to the study, the library and the dining room. A double set of
winding mahogany staircases would glide up to the second story balcony. Everything
would be white, with a few bursts of color from the paintings and the plush rugs and the
cut flowers. The decor would bespeak of class, elegance and wealth and beauty of a time
gone by….
The orphan boy’s dirty fingers curled around the gates in longing. He hardly felt the cold,
he was so transported by his imagination.
Finally a harsh gust of frigid wind woke him from his reverie.
He blinked and when his eyes opened again, the Bellarose mansion was as she had always
been; boarded up, abandoned and forgotten as the city grew up around her.