I just checked on Silas. He's sleeping in what we call the Cinderella Room, a space adjacent to the upstairs sleeping porch, so small it barely holds a twin bed. Silas checked all the options, then picked his own bed.
It's nearly midnight after a drive from Lexington, but we made time to read the Davy Crockett book that has my brother's name printed in it, and then double-checked the locations of the other upstairs tenants: Ira and I will be across the hall (follow the magic rugs) and Phil will be in the corner room with its view of Clinton's courthouse cupola.
It was in 1993, seventeen years ago, that my brother and I started working on this house, reclaiming it from the wrecking ball with a promise to each other that we would make it into a summer gathering place for the whole clan. It's almost impossible to get everyone here at the same time. Kent, Minda, and Sylvie are home in Winchester now but will drive down in a few days to join Silas; Matt will drive down on the eve of the 17th; Chris and Ben Jewell couldn't make it this summer-- Chris just started a new job at U of VA and Ben is doing a summer internship in Panama.
But Emma and Mason traveled across three states with their Dad, taking turns talking with him while he did all the driving. And Silas is staying alone with us for the first time ever, exploring the front stairs, back stairs, and incredible attic of the Emma House. In a few minutes I'll check on him again. And then maybe just one more time.
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