Chapter 11 #2
The open field gradually gave way to a denser forest. The slope grew precipitous, and the engine’s hum deepened as it strained over the ever-steepening hills. She maneuvered through the trees, easing off the gas only when the terrain dipped, I’m sure trying to smooth the ride for her cats.
Mr. Beans had stopped his caterwauling, or so it seemed. A quick look back revealed wide, scared eyes and a bobbing head, crouched low in the kennel. He was going to be a mess after this. Luckily, the quiet forest offered excellent trauma therapy.
After a few more hours of navigating the terrain, carefully avoiding the bare ground where the snow had already melted, we were almost there.
It was a transitional time for the forest, but thankfully, enough fresh snow remained from the night before to keep us going.
The worst-case scenario was abandoning the snowmobile and hiking in with the cats, returning for the supplies later, which risked the wildlife getting to the food.
As we climbed higher, the bare patches became less of an issue.
Around this time of year, I usually switch to a four-wheeler, but the snow had been hanging around longer than usual.
We reached the river, the one that flowed by my cabin. I told her to follow it.
Evening was approaching; the sky was already dim and the first stars were shining. With any luck, we’d be there in twenty minutes. As we rounded the bend, the glow of my solar lights on the cabin was visible through the evening fog and trees.
Betty pointed, looking back at me as if to confirm.
I nodded.
When we pulled up, she stopped at the log gate, her expression hard to read.
“Keep it running,” I instructed.
I hopped off the machine and opened the gate, letting her through.
Without direction, she expertly maneuvered the machine into the yard.
She seemed confident in her control, her guise one of arrogant pride for having gotten us here without incident.
Perhaps I’d misjudged her ability to adapt to this world.
Perhaps… she would surprise me.
Betty idled toward the porch, puttering over the snow and up near the steps.
Her eyes darted around the structures, scanned rooflines, and catalogued each item with intense scrutiny: the house, the soaring metal A-frame roof, the river stone chimney, the massive tree trunk beams, and the twinkling solar porch lights.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
It’s funny how the entire house looked different now; my gaze finding all the flaws that I had never paid much mind to. I’d built it all by hand, and all alone. It’d taken a lot of engineering to maneuver the larger structural beams, but I loved the challenge of learning.
Sharing my creation with a woman, and hoping she approved, was the ultimate test for a man like me. This was everything I had to give, the sum total of my worldly possessions.
This was my make or break moment.
She fumbled with the dash, then turned off the engine.
The sudden quiet was deafening; my ears buzzed from hours of constant noise.
She surveyed the yard, her gaze tracing the fence line around the shed and the greenhouse.
The entire connected complex of buildings was covered in fresh snow, more than when I’d left, with icicles hanging from every eave.
Swinging her leg over the snowmobile seat, she stood and stretched, placing her hands on her lower back and doing a few small squats.
Her silence was killing me.
At last, she turned to me, eyes finding mine where I still stood with my hand on the gate. “Did you build all this by yourself?” She asked.
I nodded, trying to dampen my outward anticipation of her response.
As though knowing it tortured me, she blinked, face neutral and stalling before a huge smile graced her lips; pure joy lit her face. “Gray, this is beautiful,” she said with genuine earnestness.
Seeing her approval filled me with a blooming pride. She liked it.
“All this wood, the carving. Jesus, Gray. How long did it take you? Those beams must weigh a ton!” She wasn’t holding back, and she wasn’t being sarcastic, for once. She spun in place, marveling and gesturing to the best parts of the cabin. “It’s amazing.”
I swallowed thickly. My body needed a moment to reboot. “Uh… five years, but it’s still a work in progress, so I guess a decade?” I shoved off the fence, taking a few steps forward, ice crunching under my leather work boots. I pulled the hat off my head and ruffled my hair.
Mr. Bean’s yowls were now a hoarse, pathetic sound. We both looked in that direction.
“Oh, Mr. Beans,” she sighed, stepping toward the sled.
There was a familiar chattering from a tree nearby. Following the sound, I couldn’t help my grin when I saw it was Larry the pine marten, poking his head around a branch a few feet above. I laughed. He’d stayed, and hopefully did as I asked. It was yet to be seen.
Claws grasping the bark, he rounded the trunk, tail swishing. He appeared glad to see me, but also very curious about the sad yowls coming from the crate, as he kept glancing between me and the sled.
Betty noticed where my attention had gone. “What the hell is that?” She appeared both curious and wary, her face twisted and nose crinkled. “Is that what Canadian squirrels look like?”
I smirked, and Larry scrambled down the tree, reaching the base. He lurched forward in fits and starts, getting closer to the sled and Betty. Head tilted, I wondered if I should step in or let it happen.
Betty took a few steps back, her hands balling at her sides, betraying her calm. Larry hopped onto the sled, navigating the slick canvas cover, and circled the kennel to look inside. A low growl came from Mr. Beans and the cage door rattled, followed by a hiss.
Larry leapt back, chortling and whipping his tail in an agitated manner. Mr. Bean’s paw thwacked the kennel door a second time, attempting to swat at Larry through the bars. Larry stumbled from the sled onto the snow, dashing toward Betty and scrambling for cover.
Betty, reacting as expected, screamed and darted sideways, slipping on the icy mix and almost toppling over before clawing her way onto the first few steps of the deck. Larry dove under her feet, finding refuge below the steps and disappearing into the shadows.
“What the fuck!?” she hissed.
The dream had ended. The harsh truth of the forest was exposed. “You sure say ‘fuck’ a lot,” I said.
Her face darkened with a scowl. “All of this is one giant ‘fuck’,” she spat. “So expect to hear more of it.”
I let the laugh bubble out of me before I sighed and put my hands on my hips. “Well then, fuck.”
She glowered and stepped the rest of the way onto the porch.
I approached the sled, a smile still on my face, and undid the straps holding down the canvas tarp over our supplies.
I slid the kennel off and into the snow.
Villainy came to the front of the kennel then, looking well-rested and content.
His little nose nudged and rubbed against the bars a few times.
I stuck a finger through, scratching him on the cheek as Mr. Beans let out a low rumble of warning from the shadows within.
I looked up at Betty on the porch. “Can you handle carrying that?” I asked, gesturing to the kennel.
She warily assessed the steps, as though afraid Larry might reach out and grab her ankle if she stepped down.
“What, are you afraid of a little weasel?” I teased, effortlessly swinging a fifty-pound sack of cat food up off the sled and onto my shoulder.
Betty watched the entire movement, lips parting in obvious awe. She was way too easy to read. I could’ve sworn a little drool was forming at the corner of her mouth.
Her expression soon hardened back into a scowl. “I’m not afraid.”
She stomped down the steps and gripped the handle on the top of the medium-sized kennel. Hiding her struggle, she lifted it, having to use both hands to manage the task. I could see she was trying to act tough, but the blush on her cheeks and her fast breathing betrayed her.
We’d get her built up and strong in no time. After a few days of chopping wood, she’d be fine.