It was simple, but serene and quiet. Everything was rustic, raw, with untouched wood. The whole house had secret cubbies and hidden little rooms. The stairway was small, hidden off the kitchen; one had to go through an unassuming doorway to find it. One bedroom was small, loft-like with low ceilings, mysterious; the only way to it was a ladder up the hallway wall. I pictured two little boys sharing it, telling ghost stories at night, hidden under blankets with flashlights. Another bedroom, close to the master bedroom, was narrow, and long, with vaulted ceilings and small cubbies and cutouts. Immediately, I wanted to put a pink canopy bed in the corner, build a window seat and fill it with stuffed animals and baby dolls. It could be a little girl’s make-believe castle, a pretend world of fairies and princesses. The master bedroom was simple, efficient, nothing to ooh and ahh over. But the master bath had a double-sized old-fashioned footed bathtub, sitting in the middle of the bathroom, begging to be filled with water and bubbles and soaked in for hours.
