2. Journee
two
Journee
The sun is beginning to set, and I know I need to find some kind of shelter for the night.
Thinking back to my great escape, I didn’t really think it through.
My only thought was to get away from the church, which I accomplished fairly easily—the rest wasn’t even a concern.
Now faced with the possibility of sleeping outside in the woods, I’m beginning to think I made a horrible mistake.
Luckily, the weather was nice, and the trek through the woods was uneventful, with only the occasional bird screeching at me from above. A few times, I heard something rustle in the bushes, but if I’ve learned anything from fairy tales, it’s to continue on the journey.
Sure, the Big Bad Wolf almost ate Red Riding Hood, and the witch tried to throw Hansel and Gretel into the oven.
But the Three Bears were forgiving when they caught Goldilocks in their cabin.
I know reality isn’t like fairy tales, but if I let myself think about what dangers could be lurking in the woods, I’ll have a serious breakdown.
With more determination than ever, I push forward until a cabin finally comes into view. It’s small and a little rustic, but charming, nonetheless. The colorful wildflowers nearby make it look like the perfect fairy-tale cabin in the woods.
Pushing down the dread that the owner might be an axe murderer or a serial killer, I cautiously walk to the porch, taking each step slowly, when something on the door catches my eye. A sheet of paper with a scribbled message is pinned to the door that reads:
I’m away on a job for a couple of weeks. If you need any wood, it’s around back. Pay what you can and leave it in the tin box next to the wood shed.
I smile at the note, which is unlike anything I’ve ever read before.
No one in the city would be that trusting, leaving a note saying he would be gone for a while and that they could still buy wood from him, just leave the money in a box.
If this were the city, all his wood would be gone, and whatever money was in the tin box.
Could I really be this lucky to have a place to stay for the night?
The note makes it sound like the owner would be okay with me spending the night.
I bite my lip, the thought of breaking into his house weighing heavily on me.
I make a deal with myself—if the door is unlocked, I’ll stay the night; if it’s locked, I’ll sleep in one of the other sheds on the property.
My hand shakes as I reach out to touch the doorknob.
I close my eyes, let out a breath, and twist the knob.
It turns smoothly, telling me the door is unlocked.
I push the door open and rush inside, closing it behind me.
There is still enough light coming through the windows to make out the cabin's interior.
As rustic as the outside looks, the inside is the complete opposite, with its updated design and, to my great pleasure, electricity.
If I weren’t so tired from the long walk and from almost marrying a man I don’t love, I would do a little dance. Instead, I search the small cabin and find only one bedroom, one bathroom, and an open-concept living room and kitchen combo.
Needing a hot shower to wash away the dirt and sweat from my hike through the woods, I set my backpack down in a comfy-looking chair by the massive bed that fills most of the room and pull out my toiletries.
I reach for a t-shirt and shorts I packed, but my eyes land on a closet door that is partly open.
I open the door the rest of the way and find the closet filled with well-worn, comfy-looking t-shirts and flannel shirts.
I grab the nearest flannel and hold it up. It’s huge, but it looks so comfortable. Without a second thought, I take it into the bathroom. I’ve already planned to repay the cabin’s kind owner with the money I stashed in my backpack. I’ll just pay him a little extra for using his clothes.
The warm shower felt amazing on my skin, almost as good as the cold roast beef sandwich I made for dinner. It’s hard to believe the refrigerator and cupboards are so well stocked—I could live here for at least a few weeks before needing anything.
The giant bed is my favorite—it’s not too hard or too soft—it’s just right, making me feel like Goldilocks.
But I’m not sure whether it’s the comfortable mattress or the amazing smell from the pillows and blankets—it’s a cross between a light pine smell and something deeper and richer, almost primal.
My heart races as the thought of the cabin’s nameless, faceless owner invades my mind, conjuring images of the mountain men in the romance novels Jenna reads.
I grab one of the extra pillows, squeeze it tightly, and inhale deeply as I fall asleep to visions of a tall, muscular, bigger-than-life mountain man joining me in this giant bed and doing all the things I’ve only ever read about in those romance books to me.
***
I wake up the next morning feeling refreshed and a little flustered as I recall my naughty dreams about my mystery mountain man.
With my luck, when I finally meet him, he’ll be old enough to be my grandfather, or worse, he’ll be just as handsome as my dream mountain man, but he’ll have a wife and children.
The thought sours my mood, but I remind myself I’m not here to find love—I’m here for an adventure and to decide what I want out of life.
On the first day in the cabin, I mostly sit in the huge, comfy chair in the bedroom with the curtains drawn, just in case someone stops by to buy wood. I clutch the mountain-man romance book tightly when I reach the good parts. I only leave the bedroom to go to the bathroom and grab a bite to eat.
The next few days are a repeat of the first. My anxiety is running high about the possibility of getting caught, even though I know the mountain man will return sooner or later. I can only pray he won’t be too mad at me for staying in his cabin without his permission.
By the fourth day, I’ve moved into the living room, devouring the rest of the romance novels, one after another.
As each day passes, I grow bolder. In the time I’ve been here, no one has stopped by for wood, but it’s also springtime, and the weather is neither cold nor hot, so the demand for wood is low.
On day five, I venture outside and pick some of the wildflowers, placing them in a makeshift vase and setting them on the table. This too becomes part of my routine as I fill the cabin with vases full of wildflowers.
On day six, I explore the rest of the area, finding a small garden back by the wood shed in need of some serious weeding—not that I know much about gardening. I spend the rest of the day tending to the garden until my muscles tell me it’s time for a hot shower and a good night's sleep.
On day nine, I’ve come to the realization that the mysterious mountain man owner of the cabin should be home any day now. The thought saddens me. I’m not ready to give up this little piece of heaven I’ve found here in the mountains.
By bedtime, I’ve come up with a plan to buy the cabin and the surrounding property from the owner. I have my trust fund money that I haven’t touched. And if I’ve learned anything from my parents, it’s that everything is for sale if you have enough money.
I close my eyes and snuggle deeper into the covers, smiling at the thought of living in this cabin forever.