Chapter 2: The Cabin

The cabin was hidden from the road. There were ruts in the lane, but the SUV handled the terrain well. Tess was craning her neck, and when Sawyer swerved to avoid a fallen tree, she was jolted so hard she grabbed onto his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

When she caught her first glimpse, she could hardly contain herself. “That’s my cabin,” she said, bubbling over with happiness.

“It’s not a small log cabin,” Sawyer exclaimed. “It’s much more than I expected.”

“It’s three bedrooms, and the rooms are large. My father built it twenty years ago. This log cabin was my haven before my car broke down. While I was in college, I would come here on weekends to study, journal, and paint. Mother deeded it to me after my father died. Somehow, we kept the taxes paid. Mac, my stepfather, never knew about this place.”

“Looks like you had an enormous garden.”

“Yes, it’s all grown out now, but it’s not too late to get one started,” Tess said with a positive lilt to her voice. “Working in the garden is great therapy—I enjoy it.” She pointed to the side of the house; her expression wistful. “There’s an orchard with the best apples in the world. My grandfather planted the trees.”

Buddy bounded out of the SUV and immediately sniffed around the trees, and Sawyer grabbed her carpetbag. They meandered towards the house with Tess making remarks about the way things used to be. “Mama’s roses are blooming in the rose garden,” she said excitedly, seemingly oblivious to the weeds smothering the roses.

“You’re going to need some help. It’s a beautiful property, but it’s rundown. It’ll take a while to get this place looking good.”

“There’s not enough money for hired help.” Tess retrieved the key from under a rock by the garage. “Daddy had insurance, but Mama was sick for a long time, and the money is almost gone. Not only that, I have a student loan. I’m a teacher. I’ll be teaching first grade at the elementary school in town.”

“Do you have a family?”

“No.” She sighed, fiddling with the key. “There’s just Buddy and me.” She turned the key in the lock.

Sawyer looked around and whistled as he scanned the living room filled with antiques, couches, and chairs upholstered in red plaid and moss green velour. It was striking against the warm hickory wood.

“This is beautiful,” he said. “How did you do all this?”

“My mother sold off some antiques when Granny died, and we went to sales and auctions. We kept a few of Granny’s antiques, mixed old with new, and it turned out nicely.” She pointed to a rocker. “That was Granny’s. It seems to fit. Besides, I couldn’t bear to sell it. She loved that chair.” She ran her hand over the spindles and brushed away a tear. “Sorry, I’m sentimental. Let me show you the dining room.”

She gestured to the bookcase that covered one wall. Tess pulled out a book. “Granny was a schoolteacher. She loved books. I grew up on Kipling, Poe, and James.”

When Sawyer didn’t reply, she realized he didn’t know about the poets she had mentioned. He was a Mennonite. They went to the eighth grade.

He smiled. “My grandmother was a schoolteacher, too.”

Tess was curious. “Do you read much?”

“I read the Amish newspaper that comes out every two weeks. I don’t have time to read. My hobby is carving miniature horses. I have a workshop.”

Tess was impressed. “Do you sell them locally?”

“No. I sell the miniature horses to a company in New York.”

“Well,” Tess exclaimed. “You are full of surprises.” She was more than curious but didn’t want to prod. She told herself she would find out where he sold them and buy one.

Their shoulders brushed when she returned the book to the shelf, and a warm, delightful shiver went through her.

She led him into the dining room. “We sold Granny’s antique set, and it brought in enough money to put in a new well, and a new dining room suite.” She ran her hand over the smooth surface of the long table. “This is solid cherry from an Amish furniture store in Walnut Creek called Fritz and Thomas.”

A look of surprise came over Sawyer’s face. “I recognize the quality—I work for Fritz and Thomas. I’m Thomas Shrock’s assistant.”

“I thought you owned a horse ranch.”

“I do. It was Thomas Shrock who gave me my start. I met him at a horse auction. I was short money to buy the horse I wanted, and he loaned me the money. He was a stranger. Then he asked if I could drive, and I became his driver. Later, I became his assistant. One thing led to another—I started breeding horses—and I own a hundred acres and seventy-five horses.”

“Interesting how life works out—sometimes you meet just the right people and your entire life changes,” Tess said, smiling, as she lifted off the glass globe of a brass kerosene lamp and peered inside to check if it had oil.

Sawyer looked pleased. “You use the lamp; it isn’t just for decoration. You’re a country girl—after all.”

Tess nodded. “Oh, yes, I use it. I was taught to be thrifty from an early age.”

There was a big copper pot in the corner of the dining room with long oar paddles. “My grandmother had one of these to make apple butter,” he said, squatting down and running his hand over the smooth copper bucket.

“Yes, every fall, we make apple butter outside on the patio. I love autumn here. It’s a palate of colors. Good for a person’s soul.” She felt a twinge of sadness. She was alone and would have to carry on the tradition by herself. 

A painting on the wall caught Sawyer’s eye. It was of a horse running free, kicking up dust. There was a big red barn in the background. In the bottom right corner, he saw her name, Tess.

“So, you are an artist. And a damned good one,” he said. “You’ve captured the spirit of the horse.” He followed Tess into the kitchen.

“I had to sell Thunder when I went away to college.” She winced; the day still fresh in her mind when she’d said goodbye to him four years ago. “Horses are expensive to keep with vet bills and all of that—but I have my painting, and my memories.”

“I’m sorry,” Sawyer said. “Had I known, I would have boarded him for you.”

Tess quickly changed the subject. “It doesn’t matter. I write and illustrate children’s books. I write about nature and animals,” she said, reaching in the pantry and pulling out a Mason jar and setting it in front of him. “This is for you.”

He picked it up. “Apple butter. Looks mighty good. Can’t wait to try it.” He gazed at her. “You must be hungry. Why don’t we run into town and get a bite to eat and get some groceries?”

“You’ve already done so much. I’m sure you have things you need to do.”

“It can wait. Besides, I’m hungry.”

“I’m starving.” She patted her stomach. “I can’t even remember when I’ve had a decent meal. But I can’t go like this—I’ll take a quick shower.”

“Mind if I look around while you get ready?” 

“Make yourself at home.” She turned to head up to her room. As an afterthought, she called out. “Will you bring up the oil for the lamps? It’s in the cupboard under the sink.” He’s so helpful—so easy to be with, Tess thought as she ran up the steps.