Chapter 1, page 18

“What are you doing here?” She eyed him skeptically, still not believing her eyes.

“Waiting for you. I wanted to meet you.”

Now she was really leery, but still curious. Meet her? “Me? You wanted to meet me?” she inquired.

“I’ve been watching you the last several days, longer really. Since you got here.”

“You’re the butterfly that’s been divebombing me, aren’t you?”

He laughed, and answered “I wasn’t divebombing you, I was just getting close enough to read you. Sorry about startling you,” he said, and grinned at her mischievously.

She turned her attention to her boots, untieing and slipping them off, she drew her socked feet up and tucked them under her. Picking up the small dried flower arrangement on the table next to her, she touched each flower one at a time, examining it in detail, keeping one eye on the creature. She picked a piece of grass out of the vase, and held it up to the light so she could scrutinize it more thoroughly.

“Why?” she finally asked.

Chapter 1, page 17

“They’re beautiful,” she said softly, staring at them, totally ignoring the being the wings were attached to.

He leaned up against the pillows on the bed, hands behind his head, and stared back at her, relaxed.

“Thank you! I quite like them too.”

She sat in the dark green wingback chair set next to a second window, curtained in a cheerful green and white check with ruffled edges. A small table and lamp were next to it, with an arrangement of candles and dried flowers, and room for a book or a picture frame. Two small paintings decorated the wall opposite her, and depicted quiet river scenes that might have been taken from the woods surrounding the cabin.

The four poster bed Kellan lounged on was covered in a scrap quilt, dominated by the color green and flowered fabrics. The pillows he rested on, solid green shams with ruffles, were laid against a pine headboard. His bare feet didn’t touch the matching footboard, and the carved posts were short, reaching only a couple of feet above the bed. The dust ruffle matched the pillows, and draped to just above the floor, hiding anything that might be under the bed.

Chapter 1, page 16

Phoebe gaped at him. She scrutinized the winged creature, noting small details, his trimmed, clean fingernails, adorning scratched, sturdy hands. Mis-matched buttons on his shirt and a neatly sewn patch on one sleeve. Well-worn blue jeans, cuffed at his ankles, clung to his thighs.

“Well, speak, woman!” he demanded, “don’t just stare at me. You’re not a gibbering idiot!” he barked.

She continued to stare, stupefied by the creature in front of her. The only part of Phoebe that moved was her eyes, roaming over his wings again and again.

“Who are you? What are you? Can I touch them?” she finally squeaked out. She nervously pulled a stone she’d picked up earlier out of her pocket and let it slide around in her hand, rubbing her thumb over its smooth surface, waiting for him to reply.

He stared at her, weighing her, weighing what he should say. Finally, “I don’t know. Can you?” he snickered, his twinkling blue eyes belying the sneering tone of his voice.

She blushed, and then tightened her mouth. “Jerk!” she thought to herself, but didn’t speak out loud. She stepped towards the bed, reaching one hand out, and softly touched one wing. It was warm, slightly fuzzy, soft, and when it twitched, she jumped. Immediately she put her hand back on the wing, feeling it more firmly this time, realizing that she had tickled him.

Chapter 1, page 15

She went up the stairs, set off to one side of the cabin. A railing on the upper floor surrounded the edge of the opening, made of some multi-colored wood. She reached the top of the stairs, transfixed by the sight of the cloud-covered mountain peaks that she could see through the window that dominated the wall she faced. She walked up to the window and opened it easily, to her amazement, the view overwhelmeing her, and she spent the next several moments drinking in the rain-drenched view. The chill  finally penetrated her sweater, and she closed the window. Increasingly perplexed, she turned around to examine the rest of the upstairs.

She gasped when she saw the form on the bed. The wings were spread, thin, opaque, unsubstantial looking things. Curly brown hair covered the head, and bright blue eyes stared straight at her. Knees drawn up to chest, hands with long, sturdy fingers hugged the knees close. A smile in the middle of the deeply tanned face. A flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up above the elbows, and not tucked into well-worn Levis dressed him. His feet were bare, boots and socks on the floor in front of him.

“I wondered how long it would take you to notice me,” he said, laughter in his voice.

Chapter 1, page 14

“This is adorable!” she cried, and stepped inside, totally forgetting Gail’s admonition to stay out of the cabin. She gazed around in delight at the old-fashioned furnishings, and couldn’t resist touching the rocking chair, setting it in motion. She picked up the pillow that sat in the corner of the green armchair, running her hands over the heavily embellished crazy quilt pattern, and enjoying the texture of the threads, beads, and buttons that decorated each patch. She examined the photographs in their old-fashioned frames sitting on a nearby shelf, and picked up one of the kerosene lamps, almost spilling some of the oil.

The fabrics and appliances clearly indicated that the cabin had been furnished in the late 1950’s or early 60’s. The stove in the kitchen appeared to be gas, and the refrigerator had rounded edges on the door, a style she could remember from her childhood. Gingham and calico were used at the windows and for hotpads hanging next to the stove. She sat in the rocking chair, set to one side of the wood stove for a few minutes, totally ignoring the rain pouring down outside. Her head rested on the pillow at the top of the chair back and she closed her eyes. Something was off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it it. Her hands caressed the smooth wood of the arm rests, and her feet pushed her, rocking slowly.

Her eyes flew open, and she looked around the cabin again. Standing, she went up to the shelf above the woodstove and ran her hand over it. Her palm was clean. Where was the dust, the cobwebs, the animal litter, that ought to be in a cabin that hadn’t been occupied in forty years? The place ought to be filthy, mused Phoebe, not sparkling clean. She looked out a window; the glass was spotless, and yet she hadn’t been able to see in because of the grime just the day before. And there was no evidence of the fire that she’d seen at the corner of the cabin either; no smoke damage, no burn marks. And the stairs. Why was there a set of stairs? From the outside, the cabin just didn’t look tall enough to have much more than a tiny loft. It was much more spacious inside than the outside led her to believe.

Chapter 1, page 13

On her way back to the cabin, Phoebe watched summer storm clouds gathering. They slowly drifted in, until now it was getting dark, and large drops of rain were splatting down. She had reached the spot where she’d been dive-bombed by the butterly early that morning, but didn’t stop to take pictures of the dramatic sky. She didn’t mind the summer sprinkles, but this looked like it was going to be a downpour, and she didn’t relish the idea of coming home soaked to her skin. So she hurried down the trail, grateful for the speed she could hike while going downhill.

Just as she reached the old cabin, that Gail had warned her to stay away from, the skies opened up. She raced onto the porch with only her shoulders and hat wetted by the downpour. As she jumped onto the porch, the door creaked open.

“Jeez, I must have landed pretty hard to jar the door open that way!” she exclaimed to herself. She couldn’t resist peeking in, and pushed the door open further. It was exquisite inside; a rocking chair on one side of the stone fireplace, a wingback armchair on the other, with a side table in between the two. A braided rug lay in front of the woodstove, the perfect place for a sleeping dog. A nearby shelf held two oil lamps, full of clear yellow kerosene. At the far end of the cabin was a small kitchen, with gingham covered cabinets below the counter, and open shelves above. A small sink and stove, along with a floor to ceiling cabinet, completed the kitchen area. A set of stairs led upstairs, with hooks for hanging coats and hats underneath it. To the right was a writing desk. A door was off to one side, close to the kitchen.

Chapter 1, page 12

The next morning, Phoebe threw her journal into the daypack, along with some water, trail mix, an apple, and lastly the camera. She swallowed the last sip of coffee, put her cup in the sink, closed her eyes to the pile of dirty dishes, and walked through the door. “Another gorgeous morning!” she exclaimed to herself, as she went down the steps. Standing still for a moment, eyes closed, she took a deep breath of the foresty air. She knew that soon she would need to start inviting people up to visit, and make friends in the small town nearby, but for now she cherished her seclusion. She grinned widely as she walked around the tiny old cabin, heading for the trail she discovered yesterday.

The trail started off easily enough, then began to gain elevation. Phoebe was huffing and puffing, and beginning to sweat. Refusing to stop until she’d gained the top of the hill, she struggled on upwards. At last she was rewarded with a panoramic view of the valley below. She sipped on her water and caught her breath for several minutes, then couldn’t resist the opportunity to take some pictures. She took the camera out of the pack, and nearly dropped it, startled by the whir of wings as a butterfly dove nearly under her nose. A blur of yellow and blue was all she saw, as she straightened up, startled. It looked like the same one she’d seen a few days earlier.

“I really do need to get that insect book from the library!” she exclaimed, setting the camera back down so she could pick it up in a more secure grip. She started taking photographs, and quickly forgot about the incident, as the natural beauty of her surroundings took hold of her imagination. She moved on, now winding down the other side of the mountain, and continued hiking for several hours.

Chapter 1, page 11

Walking back to the cabin, the older, dilapidated cabin caught her eye. Gail had warned her not to go in this one, as it was falling down. It was the last place that Gail’s grandmother had been seen before she disappeared about 40 years ago. When Phoebe asked why it hadn’t been torn down, Gail gave her a funny look, and finally answered that her father had tried to one year, but every time something happened and he gave up. 

It was pretty obvious that attempts had been made at tearing the cabin down, as there were chainsaw marks on the porch supports, and it looked like a fire had been set at one corner of the porch. Now that she was closer, the cabin didn’t look to be in such bad shape after all. It was dirty and cobwebby, and the roof had some moss on it, but there weren’t any broken windows, nor were there any missing or broken boards on the porch. She wiped the window with her hand, and peered in, but the late afternoon sun was at the wrong angle for much light to penetrate the dirty glass, so she could barely see inside. “Oh well,” she thought to herself, “I’ll take another look when the light is better.” She walked around behind the little cabin and noted with surprise that there was a trail leading away from it. She would have to explore that one tomorrow, she told herself, but for now she was heading back to the main cabin and a late afternoon snack.

Chapter 1, page 10

She had relaxed considerably in the soft quiet of the Trinities. Her journal was her constant companion, and full of thoughts, plans, ideas, as well as catharsis. She would be seeing her counselor weekly for awhile, and that would be her day for grocery shopping and a stop at the library. Her life was assuming a routine, and purpose, even without a job to go to daily.

Phoebe ambled along the creek, which had become one of her favorite hiking spots, and enjoyed the fresh, cool spring air. Her blue eyes were quietly thoughtful as she watched the water flow noisily over the stones and fallen logs. Her hands shoved deep in the pockets of her light jacket, shoulders hunched, mesmerized by the rushing water. After a few minutes, she sat on a convenient boulder, listing to the raucous sound of some bluejays, and the gurgle of the small creek to the right of her. Brush and grass populated the bank, and on the other side of the trail were large fir trees.

She finished her apple, staring into the woods, deep in thought. The euphoria of her arrival had disintegrated into the mild depression that had led her to seek out this life of solitude and introspection. She felt like her life was such a mess. She’d been seeing a counselor, who had been an enormous help with figuring out how she’d made her wrong turns, how she’d gotten to this place, and how she could get on with her life in a productive and happy manner.

As part of her therapy, she was keeping a journal of her daily activities, what she thought about, how she was feeling, and what she would like to do, what her goals were, what were her dreams, as well. Phoebe carried the journal with her wherever she went, writing in it at odd moments. She had also started sketching in it, little pictures of trees and animals, sometimes oddly shaped rocks, or whatever caught her eye. The writing and drawing helped with her therapy, and it also helped her to sleep at night. Her thoughts were down on paper, not whirling around in her head.

chapter 1, page 9

Nearly two hours later, two arguing birds gently woke her. Her eyes still closed, she listened as the twittering grew louder, and finally silenced, as the loser flew off. She heard the whirr of a hummingbird as it darted by, and opened her eyes, hoping to see the jeweled bird. Instead, she caught a glimpse of the huge butterfly she’d seen the day before. It darted into the forest, as it had yesterday, before she could get a good look at it. Now Phoebe regretted not bringing any insect identification books with her, and vowed to visit the local library for one. For now though, she picked up the book that had dropped in her lap, and began reading again.

Days later, Phoebe was thoroughly settled in. She was in the habit of picking up sticks, stones, bird feathers, and other bits and pieces as she walked. The window sills in the cabin were littered with the treasures she’d brought home in the last few days. Texture and color attracted her; they provided inspiration for her quilts and sometimes she would use them in a quilt. Sitting with a stone, she would run her fingers over it, letting her thoughts wander as she stared at the colors and absorbed the texture through her fingers. Twigs that had been smoothed by time spent under rocks in streams were favorites of hers.

Her own sewing, small quilts elaborately embroidered, were hung on the walls. A basket with threads and sewing supplies sat by the easy chair, next to a small table that held two propane lanterns and a pile of books. The kitchen was clean, but not spotless; the counters held the spices and utensils she used on a daily basis, and potholders were scattered over the counter. The cabin reflected the occupant’s life and interests, and had become Phoebe’s home.