The Move

The old house we bought near Friends University was built in 1910. We loved the potential we saw in it, and we were eager to bring it back to its potential.

The previous owner, Mrs. Finley was upset because the mortgage company would not close on the sale until she cleared trash and debris from the yard. She also did not like it when we did a great deal of work to improve the property.

For the next five years, she found numerous ways to harass us and poke her nose into our business. As do many bullies, she involved kowtowing others, our neighbors, in her exploits.

When time came for us to move, we purposely did not post a SOLD sign in our yard. We did not want her to know.

However, we did rent a storage building so we could gradually remove items from the house.

One of the neighbors must have told her.

It was not unusual for her to drive past our house two or three times per week, but we began to see her car every day.

“Someone told her that we are moving boxes,” Husband surmised as he called her several choice names.

“Let’s watch out to make certain we are very careful that she does not find out where we are moving.”

Near the day of our move, Husband loaded several boxes into the back of his car. At the stop sign near our house, he looked into his rearview mirror and saw Mrs. Finley pulling out of a neighbors’ drive in preparation to follow him.

The game was on. Instead of turning right, he made a quick left in the opposite direction.  Down and over, in and out of traffic, and back again, he led her on a wild chase until he finally lost her.

After backtracking to the storage unit, he came home to discover her hiding on the back porch of her rental next door to us.

He could see her shadow, and since the houses were quite close to each other, he picked up a clod of dirt and hurled it at the side of her house.

I heard it inside our small bungalow. WHAM! It sounded like an explosion.

He could see her jump back almost in fright.

“You old dog, don’t you ever do that again,” he yelled at her.

Another clod of dirt hit the side of her house. Another loud explosion.

“I know you hear me, you stupid old hag. If you ever do that again, you will really have to deal with me. Do you hear me? I know you understand what I am talking about.”

He landed a third large clod of dirt on her house for a third and loudest explosion of all.

I have to admit, I thought  he was masterful  about it.

Mrs. Finley seemed to lose interest in our move from that day forward. We did not see her drive past our house or visit neighbors. She seemed to disappear.

Several months after we moved, I asked the single woman who bought the house from us if she ever had contact with Mrs. Finley. She had not, and even the neighbors steered clear of her.