Emily pulled over across from the ramshackle Curtis colonial. She let the motor idle for a while as a few cars zipped up the vertical curve on their way to the Massachusetts border, the southern Berkshires, and beyond.
Seen from this angle, the Curtis place held its own as the oldest house in Lydfield. In the hazy afternoon light, it stood with its flat Federalist façade, white clapboard beneath a steeply-pitched roof, black shutters flanking paned windows, and a semi-circular fanlight above the central entry. Just as traditional was the left front door, added on to eliminate the prospect of walking straight into the stairway.
Looking more closely, what marked the Curtis house—apart from the sagging roof and peeling paint—was the absence of a front stoop that had long since rotted away.
