Slowly, the dense veil of the forest clears, and a welcoming sight greets my eyes. Nestled in a thicket of age-old pines, the A-frame log cabin Koko described stands tall. Its wooden frame is made of raw wood logs steeped in rustic charm. It’s beautiful and, somehow, strangely soothing, easing a tension inside me that’s been building up since the moment I decided to dump Marcus and start my life over.
I follow the rutted lane until it ends at the side of the cabin, ending at a detached building that I assume is either a garage or a large tool shed. Getting out of the truck, I grab Mango’s crate and head around the cabin to the front porch. Just next to the steps leading up to the porch is a statue of a squat, bearded old man. I pat the statue’s head as I pass while he watches over the forest surrounding us. This must be the domovoy that Koko mentioned. My forehead wrinkles as I glance at it. I’m not sure what I was expecting. I guess I thought it would be like one of Aunt Zizi’s garden gnomes, but it looks almost like a hand-carved totem of Gandalf. It’s as big as one of my thighs. Someone must’ve carved this statue from a solid chunk of tree trunk.
Shaking off the odd feeling of the statue’s roughly textured head from my fingertips, I head up the porch steps to the front door. I set the crate at my feet. “Well, let’s see what it looks like inside,” I say to Mango. A soft purr resonates in response. I fish out the keys from my pocket and unlock the front door, wondering just how rustic the interior will be because I have no idea how to use a wood stove or live ‘off-grid’. I’m a suburban girl.
The instant I enter the cabin, a delighted gasp leaves my lips at its rustic charm. I find a switch next to the front door and flip on the interior lights. The muted glow from a wagon-wheel chandelier hanging from the sharp apex of the roof casts soft shadows on the rough wooden walls and plush leather furniture. I breathe in the scent of winter firewood, aged timber, and a faint trace of lavender that reminds me of Aunt Zizi’s garden.
Dominating the modest space is a fireplace made from stacked river stones. It sits squat at one end of the room, the vacant ashes from past fires witness to bygone warmth on frosty nights. To the left, a large bay window offers a hazy forest vista, the glass panes lightly dewed with the night’s cold.
Much of the cabin’s personality is apparent in its furniture. A crude, weathered table sits near the kitchen, with six solid mismatched chairs huddled around it. Rugs spun from various red, green, and brown tones lie haphazardly on the floor. Age-worn books are stacked on a handmade shelf lovingly polished to a high gleam, their pages feathered from repeated readings.
It’s a cozy nest, somewhere I can easily imagine weathering a winter storm over a mug of hot chocolate and a bowl of homemade chili. It’s a frontiersman’s wet dream.
With a deep breath, I gently set down Mango’s crate on the wooden floors of the cabin. My fingers itch to open the crate door immediately, but I refrain, knowing how skittish Mango can sometimes get in new environments. I kneel by the crate, my heart swelling as I watch his bright eyes peek through the mesh.
“Alright, buddy. Are you ready?” I ask. Mango doesn’t seem scared, so I slowly unlatch the crate door. The moment it swings open, Mango slowly peeks out of the opening, his eyes wide and his whiskers twitching as he takes in the scents of our new surroundings.
Faster than I expected, he takes his first halting step out of the crate. Mango stretches, extending his body from his arched back down to his extended claws. Any lingering hesitance fades as curiosity brims in those gleaming golden eyes. Giving himself a final shake, he steps into the main living room, his tail high. As I follow him further into the cabin, the whole building seems centered around the main living room. The wood-beamed ceiling soars above my head, meeting at a sharp angle. The seating area is centered between the enormous river stone-lined fireplace and two walls lined with colossal floor-to-ceiling windows. The windows invite the wild nature inside. A sense of awe seizes me, quelling my concerns about being in a strange place.
“This place is nicer than we expected, isn’t it, buddy?” Mango’s amber eyes flicker to me momentarily, his body relaxing at the sound of my voice. Step by cautious step, Mango begins his exploration. He pads silently along the wooden floors, his whiskers twitching. I follow him, offering him the comfort of my proximity while allowing him the freedom to discover each nook and cranny at his own pace.
I glance over into the tiny kitchen tucked into one corner and sigh with relief when I see a regular oven range and not a wood stove.
I make my way further into the kitchen. A white enameled refrigerator sits in the corner like an ancient artifact. I open the door, expecting to find bare shelves. However, I find myself blinking in surprise. The fridge is stocked to the brim. Shiny bell peppers, bags of crispy greens, a block of cheese, a jug of milk, fresh eggs, and even an apple pie nestled at the back. My heart lifts unexpectedly, and a bubble of laughter escapes my lips. Mango swivels his ears around at the sound, his little nose twitching curiously. “Well, buddy,” I chuckle, shaking my head in disbelief, “looks like we’re cooking dinner tonight. Koko sure knows how to welcome her guests! I bet she makes a killing renting this place out.”
I check the bars on my phone and am pleased to see that I get a signal out here in the middle of nowhere.
I quickly head back out to the truck to grab my luggage. Once back inside, I set up Mango’s litter box in the mudroom at the back door. I head back to the kitchen and open one of his cans of food. He appears as if summoned magically. I give him his food and head back to the fridge to make something for myself. Looking around at the offerings, I decide I want something easy. I find a can of soup in the small pantry that fits the bill.
After eating, I head back outside and put a couple of crackers I saved at the domovoy’s feet. I feel a bit like a dweeb – it’ll probably get snatched up by raccoons – but I could use every bit of good luck I can get.
Once I clean up the dishes, I decide to enjoy a fire since the fireplace is already ready and stacked with waiting logs. Aunt Zizi has a fireplace at her house so when I moved in as a teenager, she was adamant that I learn how to use a fireplace safely. I am very glad for her lessons as I check the flue and get a cozy fire going.
Drawn by the comforting crackle of the wood burning, I pick a well-thumbed murder mystery I find on the bookshelf, and then I snuggle into a corner of the sofa, pulling a thick flannel blanket over my feet. I was surprised when I realized there wasn’t a TV in the cabin. Koko is really leaning into the rustic getaway aspect of the area. Not that I’m complaining since I’m getting to stay here for free.
With an indulgent smile, I watch Mango knead biscuits on the rug near the fireplace before curling up to warm himself. His soft purrs create a soothing background to the gentle lullaby of the house settling in for the night.
The drowsiness of the long drive begins to hang heavy on my eyelids. The words in the book – a psychological thriller about a woman who finds out her husband is not who she thought he was – begin to blur into one another. The cozy warmth of the fire and that old-book smell lull me into a state somewhere between wakefulness and slumber. The words dance away from me as my head lolls onto my chest, my body succumbing to the exhaustion of the long and tedious drive.
My eyes snap open just before I fall completely asleep, Aunt Zizi’s old lecture about the perils of an unattended fire echoing in my head. I scramble to my feet, dismissing the lure of sleep, and hurry over to the hearth. The glow of the dying fire casts long, dancing shadows across the room. Resisting the urge to groan, I dutifully put out the fire.
Despite my fatigue, I ensure everything is secure, double-checking the cabin’s doors and windows. With each click of a lock filling the quiet space, the knot of tension in my chest eases a bit. It’s probably a bit of overkill since I am alone in this forest, but I’m too used to city living to leave my doors unlocked.
With the cabin secure, I roll my suitcase down a narrow hallway that opens into a small bedroom. The feathery moonlight seeps in through a curtained window, setting the room in a silvery hue. An antique-looking dresser sits under the window. I carefully put my suitcase on the dresser and open it.
A modest-sized iron bed covered with a faded blue and red quilt sits against one wall. A tinge of nostalgia flutters in my heart. It’s like something straight out of Little House on the Prairie, a book my mom used to read to me.
I quickly change into my pajamas, and then, with a weary sigh, I pull back the quilt and climb into bed, letting exhaustion take control.
Yet the moment my weary bones settle onto the mattress, sleep seems to evaporate into thin air. I roll over and punch down my pillow, hoping it will help.
My eyelids feel heavy and tired, yet every time they slide shut, a soft noise or gentle breeze wakes me. Perhaps I’m just used to city noise and the almost silence is keeping me awake. Exhaling softly, I pet Mango’s soft fur, hoping the steady purr of my feline companion will help lull me to sleep. But as much as I yearn for it, the escape of sleep keeps evading me, teasing at the fringe of my consciousness yet remaining decidedly out of reach.
Rolling over with an annoyed grunt, I grab my phone off the side table to check the time. It’s almost a quarter past 10 – late enough that I shouldn’t be having so much trouble falling asleep. As I roll back over, fluffing my pillow into a more comfortable position, Mango makes an annoyed noise before jumping from the bed and heading out of the room. All my tossing and turning finally drove him from my side. Right before he exits the room, he stops and looks back at me as if to say, ‘Look what you made me do’.
I look at the clock on my phone, realizing that only a few more minutes have passed since I last checked it. I suddenly remember the fireworks show Koko mentioned during our chat in her bakery. Might as well find the silver lining in this sleepless night.
Quietly, I slip out of bed, shivering as my bare feet land on the cold wooden floor. I find my discarded tennis shoes and stuff my feet into them without unlacing them.
Earlier in the evening, when I was searching for a can opener, I noticed a flashlight in one of the cluttered kitchen drawers. So, I shuffle my way to the kitchen and grab it. Turning it on, its beam cuts through the dark cabin, painting shadows that dance and flicker.
I silently step onto the porch and out into the haunting stillness of the moonlit night. The air is a quiet serenade of rustling leaves and nighttime insects, and the taste of cold mist hangs in the air. I quickly spot a gravel path leading off from the cabin into the woods. Trusting the moon’s silver glow and the beam of my flashlight, I begin my solitary venture into the wilderness. Koko said that the lake was easy to find.
Every rustle and whisper in the dark makes me startling as I walk the path. But every time I whip the beam toward the noise, all I find is the quiet, serene forest. I shake my head at myself. I’m such a wimp.
Glancing around, I wonder about spiders and bears, scoffing at my city-girl fear. Are there mountain lions in this part of the country?
I shake off my unease, steering my thoughts back to the gazebo next to the lake. I assure myself that I am perfectly safe and that I’ll be glad I went on this adventure once the fireworks start. I can already imagine the jubilant eruption of vibrant colors against the dark canvas of the sky. Shivering only slightly against the cold, I quicken my stride, anticipation bubbling.
CHAPTER 11
Lily
The winding gravel path beneath my shoes suddenly opens, and I gasp in delight. Bathed in the moon’s glow, a placid lake shimmers like a silver quilt. To my left, almost touching the water’s edge, stands a sturdy gazebo, its weathered wooden slats carrying the tales of countless cookouts and summer outings. I can just imagine couples whispering vows of love under its shade.
“Wow…” I whisper to the wind. I stroll over to the pavilion, my fingers grazing the worn wood of its arched entrance. My heart flutters with awe as I take in the beautiful sight, the serenity of the surroundings working its magic on my weary soul. I suddenly feel thankful for the strange circumstances that led me to this untouched piece of heaven. If Koko hadn’t accidentally shattered my window, I’d be at some generic roadside hotel instead of here.
