02.3 69 Church Street

In the morning she stepped on the road to peek at the sunrays filtered through the foliage and spread on the asphalt in sparkles. It was so quiet and scenic. Natalia climbed the Bronco and rolled towards 69 Church Street. She scaled the steps and rang the bell. Nobody answered. Natalia stepped into the side path and peeped through a panel of a sash window. Plentiful light entered into the house from tall Georgian windows. She climbed the car and drove to Meeting Street. She stopped near Ford Court to set up the gear.

She dropped her denim and pulled on vibrant pink boxing shorts, black sports bra, ankle sleeves and Taekwondo shoes, a headband and armbands. She fitted latex gloves to both hands and wrist guards over to hide them partially. She climbed down in full Muay Thai outfit with her camera and a mesh bag around her neck. Natalia entered the alley.

The boundary wall stood eleven feet tall with a hanging garden of vines lying over and the rear gate was an arched door with arm’s length wrought iron hinges. She walked down the alley to Church Street, crossed the front door and stepped into the south side path beside the First Baptist Church.

She climbed over an iron gate into a trail leading to a private garden in the middle of camellia bushes. Here the hedges cut trendily at two feet height around plots of gardens. Hidden behind and through an opening in tall podocarpus, an oval swimming pool was one of its kind to exist first in the town. Reflection of aqua blue water in the sunlight from the middle of brick pavers covered of moss partially. She couldn’t figure how the water turned so blue.

She sat down on a bench under the trellis, picked her camera and began to take photographs. There stood two privies by a corner. Boundary walls on both sides, a partial shade of trees, thick green leaves of garden plants, many more in pots, hedges skilfully trimmed, dominated by pomegranates and citrus. This portion of the garden hidden behind the podocarpus wall. Natalia could see the slave quarters over the kitchen and windows on the top level of the house covered with soft pink stucco standing beyond.

In a moment, she felt certain that the house was empty. Natalia crossed under the porch to the house and climbed the steps to the brick deck paved alongside the hyphen and the backdoor. Hacked open one of the sash windows and silently took a leg over the sill. Brusquely, she knocked her head on wood to the loud sound of bells she heard from the First Baptist Church standing next and another big Presbyterian Church on the opposite side by the corner.

Natalia took a breath and slipped into the house which was a cypress-panelled library. She took snapshots and checked every closet within reach of antique wooden furniture. A fireplace stood in front with a King of Prussia marble mantel. A stunning interior in the flood of natural lights. Delft tiles, woodwork, wainscoting and mouldings reflect the Georgian and the Federal periods. A soaring eleven feet high ceiling and a centrally located stair hall with wooden floors and rugs, photo frames and water colour paintings on the walls. In fact, one of the frames was a portrait of Arthur Middleton – a signatory of the United States Declaration of Independence. Church bells continued to chime.

This house contained 15 fireplaces, 7 bedrooms, 8 full baths, 1 half bath, besides other halls in 8524 sq ft inside a premise of 0.29 acre.

The second floor featured the splendid ballroom with a grand piano, drawing room and two bedrooms. A master bedroom on the third floor was locked, two more utility rooms in the attic. She failed to find a single item of interest or that she was mesmerised. It was suddenly very quiet and she realised the bells stopped ringing.

Natalia passed to the kitchen connected by the hyphen to the main house; a fairly large outbuilding overlooking the gardens through lancet arched windows. She found few boat magazines and a logbook left on the large island counter. An ashtray full of cigarette butts and the smell of tobacco hung in air. This building was done in a Gothic Revival style with a piazza.

At the far end, a family room piled of boat gear; buoys, anchors, ropes, lifejackets, flares, fishing kits, fire extinguishers, batteries, snorkelling accessories, paints, various kinds of containers and even a Mercury outboard engine.

She climbed up the staircase that gave access to two bedrooms and a balcony overhanging to the gardens – the slave quarters. She found one room stacked of boat equipment; tool kits, navigational lights, radios and all that packed in boxes. Some boxes written with a marker, ‘Valor’. She picked a folded piece of paper beside a telly. An invoice dated April 30^th and raised on the boat called ‘Valor’ in Dock F-5 of City Marina from a Wayland Marine Group in James Island for a welding job of a stainless-steel ladder. Recipient was a Curtis. She dropped it into her bag.

Natalia turned back to the kitchen. Browsed the magazine pages. Took some quick snaps of the logbook. She picked some cigarette butts, a spoon, a pen and some glasses that she carefully stacked in plastic evidence bags and put into the mesh. The kitchen door was unlocked.

She stepped into the garden turf. Standing there facing west, she caught a view of the fountain before the podocarpus wall. She recalled the photographs by ‘Kit’ – the person behind the camera…whoever it was took the pictures while standing inside the garden.

Natalia climbed over the gate and stepped on the street. There were people crowded in front of the church. She hurriedly passed under their noses as they eyed at a half-naked sweaty skinny guy on a Sunday morning. She took south corner and strode towards the church parking where she left her car on Meeting Street.

There were quite a crowd of people outside and cars parked by the curbs. Even the parking lot behind the church was full – folks attending the church service. She harried pass them, climbed the Bronco and drove away.

For some reason, Natalia stopped at a corner to pull on her denim and shirt. Actually, removed her shorts to pull on her denim.