Cynthia and Fran walk around from the other side of the van. “I didn’t know you raise livestock,” Cynthia says, appreciating the Irish Wolfhound’s massive size.
Libby’s eyes regard a white pixie hairstyle, feathered around a face as tan and smooth as a child who plays in the sun. If I didn’t know better, I would have guessed she’s yet to see fifty.
As if reading Libby’s thoughts, Cynthia looks into her eyes and smiles.
While Libby introduces herself to the other two women, Mick and Niall shift the luggage to the back of the ATV, and Emma transfers herself with ease from van to wheelchair.
Hemingway takes the opportunity to check out Cynthia and Fran while Emma’s hands are busy elsewhere.
Not a fan of dogs, Jason uses this busy moment to exit the van. When he researched Pines & Quill on the internet, he learned about the resident dog. And while he isn’t happy with that particular fact, there’s nothing he can do about it. At least not yet.
Libby says, “Emma, you’re in Austen cottage. Mick, here are the tags for her luggage.”
“I won’t need tags, sis. Emma’s luggage is easy to distinguish from the rest. It’s ‘Pumpkin Spice,’’’ he says with exaggerated care, his grin bearing a hint of conspiracy as Emma laughs at their private joke.
Not lost on Libby, she notices the easy banter between her brother and the beautiful young woman.
“Fran, you’re in Dickens cottage. Cynthia, you’re in Brontë. And Jason—by the way, it’s nice to meet you,” she steps forward to shake his hand. “You’re in Thoreau.”
Then she turns and hands Mick the other color-coded luggage tags. “For those who’d like a ride, Mick will give you a lift in the ATV while he takes your luggage to the cottages, or you can come with me on the pathways.”
Not wanting to spend any more time near the behemoth dog than he has to, Jason is the first to speak up, “I’d like a ride.”
Cynthia chimes in, “I’m a bit travel-weary. I’d enjoy a ride too.” Travel-weary my ass, Cynthia thinks. I want to see if I can get more of a read on this guy. Something is wrong. Very wrong.
“I’d prefer to come with you and get the lay of the land.” Emma smiles at Libby while stroking Hemingway’s anvil-sized head, now resting on her shoulder.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to join you.” Fran smiles at the endearing picture that Emma and Hemingway make.
Niall glances at his watch. “While you folks are getting settled in your new digs, I’ll put the finishing touches on dinner. We’ll see you back here at six o’clock. That gives you just about an hour to catch your second wind.”
Jason settles himself in the ATV. I wonder if there’s any booze in the cottage?
CHAPTER 4
“Making people believe the unbelievable is no trick; it’s work. Belief and reader absorption come in the details: An overturned tricycle in the gutter of an abandoned neighborhood can stand for everything.”
—STEPHEN KING
“Fran, Dickens cottage is located on the north end of the property and closest to where we are now, so let’s head there first,” Libby says, pointing in the distance to a thick curtain of Bigleaf Maple trees. “I think you’re going to love it because the quiet is conducive to writing.”
For a moment they stop to admire the surroundings in the tranquility of pre-dusk. The tinkling of wind chimes and the rustling of leaves from the breeze through the copse of trees surrounds them.
Fran brings up the rear as they continue. Her heart aches as she watches Emma roll herself forward with ease. She’s trapped in a wheelchair but is freer and more alive than I’ll ever be.
The moment is interrupted by a mighty “WOOF!” Something that looks like a cross between a Highland cow and a wookie barrels toward them through the trees. The muscles in Fran’s body clench in fear as her brain scrambles to figure out where she can hide. Before she can move, the beast runs up to Emma, stops on a dime, sits down, and begins wagging its tail. Fran’s racing heart slows down, and she laughs, realizing the giant furry thing is Hemingway.
Hands still at her chest, “Oh, my God, he’s huge!” Fran exclaims.
Hemingway shakes his wiry head, causing his ears to flap.
“Yes, he’s a big lummox,” Libby agrees.
Emma reaches out her hand toward Hemingway. He moves his head under Emma’s fingers so she can scratch behind his ears. “You handsome boy,” she coos. When she bends forward, Hemingway moves even closer and leans against Emma’s wheelchair.
Fran watches the scene and hopes he won’t topple her over. She’s sure the dog outweighs both Emma and the wheelchair, combined.
Fran looks up and inhales the earthy fragrance wafting from the forest surrounding them. As they continue toward Dickens cottage, Hemingway in tow, Emma and Fran admire the subtle walk lights that begin to shine along the path.
Libby explains, “All of the pathways at Pines & Quill have solar powered walk lights that come on at dusk and go off when their batteries are depleted. That time differs from day-to-day, depending on the amount of sunlight. We want our guests to feel as comfortable in the evening as they do during the day. Here we are.” And with that Libby opens the door for Fran. “If there’s anything I’ve forgotten, please let me know when you come to the main house for dinner. We’ll see you at six o’clock.”
Fran’s arrival at Dickens cottage is like slipping into an old photograph of warm sepia tones—chocolate and ecru. The colors of unbleached silk and linen fabrics throughout the small space are welcoming and pleasing to the senses.
She remembers while researching Pines & Quill online that previous guests who’d resided in Dickens cottage wrote of their appreciation of the queen-size bed in the cozy sleeping loft, and the comfortable, overstuffed brown leather chair and ottoman with nailhead trim that
