I turned away from the river and walked toward the village, my reborn optimism attracted by the repair work being done on that old building.
Ignoring the clearly written sign not to do so, I crossed the canal using the short railroad trestle, and cut left along the opposite bank until I was standing at water’s edge, in the grass, looking up at the imposing structure. From this side, it reached four stories to the sky-stained, rusting, disfigured by an ugly fire escape, and yet oddly regal. Beneath the grime were ornate cornices and fancy moldings-details of an ancient attention to care and pride-the murmurings of the old Bellows Falls.
One of the carpenters paused in his work to look down at me from the balcony. “How’re you doin’?”
“Okay. Fixing the place up?”
“Yeah. Been empty longer than I been alive. Still in good shape, though. They want to turn it into a teen center, a restaurant, who the hell knows?”
“That’s a good thing, though, right-instead of letting it rot?”
He shrugged and turned to peer at it again. “I guess. They might pull it off this time-God knows the town’s due for some good luck. But if I had the money, I’d spend it somewhere else.”
“You from around here?” I asked. He looked down at me for a long time, his face finally breaking into a smile. “Yeah-probably die here, too… I see your point. Guess I better get back to work.”